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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/24563725">Hold Me Like You'll Never Let Me Go</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/moodlighting/pseuds/moodlighting'>moodlighting</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Schitt's Creek</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Airports, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Chekhov's Guitar, First Kiss, Happy Ending, M/M, Pining, Snowed In, Strangers to Lovers</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-06-08</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-07-08</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-04 03:02:19</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>3</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>21,023</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/24563725</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/moodlighting/pseuds/moodlighting</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>won’t be flying out until the morning now thanks so much for your support xo</i>
</p><p>Alexis replied almost instantaneously: <i>Yum! a whole night to myself!!!!</i></p><p>David tossed his phone into his lap, throwing up a hand. “Unbelievable.”</p><p>On the other side of the power outlet, the guy was making a heartfelt attempt at giving David some privacy, pointedly ignoring his theatrics. Only now, David was almost desperate for some pithy small talk, or a chance to commiserate about this miserable fucking situation they found themselves in. Perhaps even a drop of sympathy, which he clearly wasn’t going to receive from any of the contacts in his phone.</p><p>David cleared his throat and shifted toward the man. “So,” he began. “What brings you to Toronto Pearson International Airport this fine evening?”</p><p>The guy looked up at David like he couldn’t believe he had actually deigned to speak to him. He stared at David for a beat longer before glancing over his shoulder, looking out the window he was leaning against.</p><p>He turned back to David. “Someone told me the weather was great this time of year.”</p><p>AU. David and Patrick get snowed in at the airport. Sometimes, it only takes three days to fall in love.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Patrick Brewer/David Rose</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>116</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>705</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. DAY ONE</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>This work will be posted in three parts, updated as each chapter is completed.</p><p>I've never been to the Toronto airport (or Toronto, for that matter), so this is definitely not an accurate depiction of the ol' YYZ. My AU means airports now function however I want them to for the first time ever :')</p><p>Inspired by and dedicated to the eleven hours I spent in the Denver airport. You have not been missed &lt;3</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>It wasn’t clear just how dire the situation was until David was handed a thin polyester blanket and a complimentary meal voucher by a Delta employee who looked like she’d rather chew through glass than speak to another human being. David recognized the feeling precisely.</p><p>“What the fuck,” David muttered under his breath. The fabric of the blanket felt alarmingly cheap and unnatural where he held it out between two distrustful fingertips.</p><p>The woman gave David a polite smile that looked more like a grimace and moved on to the next passenger like she was doing it at gunpoint.</p><p>David marched over to the departures and arrivals screen. Where his flight had previously been marked as DELAYED, a large, frightful CANCELLED was now displayed in matador red. David’s eyes tracked down the rest of the listed flights.</p><p>CANCELLED<br/>CANCELLED<br/>CANCELLED<br/>CANCELLED<br/>CANCELLED</p><p>“What the <em>fuck</em>,” David said, more emphatically this time.</p><p>✈️</p><p>CBC News was already describing it as the blizzard of the decade. Airports across Ontario, Quebec, and half of Manitoba—which didn’t really count—had shut down. Meteorologists were predicting over a meter of snowfall, though it was the ice storm and high winds that were really causing problems. From where he lurked like a bitter rain cloud at the far end of his gate, David could hear the foreboding sound of ice pellets rapping against the window in front of him; a floor to ceiling view of the deteriorating conditions, because the news on every flat screen around the terminal wasn’t enough.</p><p>For the next two hours, David stewed in denial, only interrupting his sulk to go buy three overpriced yogurt parfaits and politely ask an increasingly temperamental desk attendant for status updates. At the same time, everybody else in the concourse had apparently accepted their fate and proceeded to lay claim to every electrical outlet around the seating area. When his phone battery hit 6% and David finally reached for his charger, there was nowhere left for him to plug it in, every socket occupied by a child glued to an iPad or a blonde woman camped out on the floor surrounded by matching Vera Bradley carry-on bags.</p><p>David closed his eyes and tipped his head back in a skyward plea for tolerance and restraint. With a deep, centering exhale, he went to investigate the gate on the other side of the terminal, which looked a little less crowded.</p><p>Near the opposite wall of windows, a reassuringly normal looking guy sat on the floor next to a propped-up guitar case. He had kindly taken only one of the two available sockets next to him. They would be tethered far too close together until David’s phone was charged enough for a discreet escape, but it appeared to be his only option. David was hitting new personal lows by the hour to be sure, but not low enough to necessitate him crawling under the drinking fountain by the men’s restroom to reach an outlet.</p><p>“Um,” David announced himself cautiously, stopping in front of the guy. “Do you mind if I…?” He waved his charger weakly in the direction of the socket.</p><p>The man looked up in surprise, like he hadn’t been expecting someone to approach him here in his secluded corner of the airport. “Oh! Yeah, man. No problem.”</p><p>He scooted across the floor, offering David all the room his respective charging cord would allow.</p><p>“Thanks,” David murmured.</p><p>As much as he was loath to sit on any carpeting he had not personally shampooed and vacuumed himself, David was again out of any better alternatives. Admittedly, the cracked pleather seats scattered around the terminal weren’t a stellar option either.</p><p>David settled into the space as unobtrusively as he could, mercifully plugging in his dying phone. It <em>dinged</em> quietly, the screen lighting up between his hands. There were no new notifications.</p><p>Next to him, the guy offered David a sympathetic smile before returning to his own phone. David fought back a grimace, but at least the guy didn’t try to engage him in conversation about the weather or any other pitiful small talk.</p><p>It was already going to be a long enough wait.</p><p>✈️</p><p>The official announcement came over the airport intercom just after six o’clock. All flights were grounded until dawn at the earliest, contingent upon improved visibility and lower wind speeds.</p><p>A chorus of frustrated groans echoed around the terminal. In true Canadian fashion, however, only the smallest handful of passengers lined up at the service desk to air their grievances. And this time, David wasn’t among them. He’d already been trapped at the airport since noon. <em>What’s another twelve hours?</em> he thought, with a newfound and frankly alarming sense of charitability. At this point, David was far more concerned about locating blotting papers for his forehead than escaping his inadvertent prison.</p><p>He’d also given up on ensuring his carry-on tote remained attended, as was advised over the intercom every 20 minutes. David’s ass had quickly grown sore from sitting on the threadbare carpet, and he was only a stone’s throw away from his baggage where he’d sprawled across three of the disgusting airport seats. A few hours ago he’d determined the guitar man looked trustworthy enough not to steal his iPhone, and David hadn’t moved from his new resting place since. The guy’s big box store-sourced casual airport look said aw-shucks small town decency, and his doe eyes practically reflected all six pillars of character.</p><p>They hadn’t spoken, but the guy seemed to have wordlessly accepted he was now responsible for David’s belongings anyway.</p><p>“You’ve got a message,” he called out to David some time later, when a text finally arrived.</p><p>It had been hours of silence from David’s family and friend. He scrambled off the chairs as elegantly as he could, hoping it was from Stevie. Based on the guy’s smirk, he hadn’t been particularly graceful at all.</p><p>The text was from Alexis, responding to his earlier message letting her know his flight had been delayed. All she’d sent was an <em>LOL!!!</em></p><p>David growled under his breath, dropping down to sit cross-legged on the floor.</p><p><em>won’t be flying out until the morning now thanks so much for your support xo</em>, he typed back.</p><p>Alexis replied almost instantaneously: <em>Yum! a whole night to myself!!!!</em></p><p>David tossed his phone into his lap, throwing up a hand. “Unbelievable.”</p><p>On the other side of the power outlet, the guy was making a heartfelt attempt at giving David some privacy, pointedly ignoring his theatrics. Only now, David was almost desperate for some pithy small talk, or a chance to commiserate about this miserable fucking situation they found themselves in. Perhaps even a drop of sympathy, which he clearly wasn’t going to receive from any of the contacts in his phone.</p><p>David cleared his throat and shifted toward the man. “So,” he began eloquently. “What brings you to Toronto Pearson International Airport this fine evening?”</p><p>The guy looked up at David like he couldn’t believe he had actually deigned to speak to him. He stared at David for a beat longer before glancing over his shoulder, looking out the window he was leaning against.</p><p>He turned back to David. “Someone told me the weather was great this time of year,” he said flatly. The snow was falling in thick, unrelenting sheets behind him, blurring the edges of the world on the other side of the glass.</p><p>David felt his lips twist, fighting back a smile. “I see,” he said.</p><p>The man’s deadpan expression dissolved, his face softening with a smile of his own. “What about you?” he asked.</p><p>And because David could be a wiseass too, he said, “I had a very intense craving for those little Biscoff cookies they give away on the plane.”</p><p>The guy just nodded in response, like he thought that was a valid reason. “I heard you have to pay for them now, actually.”</p><p>David’s head whipped in his direction. “<em>What?</em>” he demanded, voice rising up an octave.</p><p>The guy let the moment hang for about three seconds before he broke, laughing softly. “I’m joking,” he chuckled. “I have no idea if you have to pay for them.”</p><p>“I’d certainly fucking hope not,” David bristled. “I’m already being forced to fly <em>economy</em>. If they withhold food that’s practically unlawful imprisonment.”</p><p>“Sure.” The guy just laughed again, obviously indulging him.</p><p>Neither of them spoke again for a long moment, the awkward pause left dangling between them. At the same time, they both looked down at their phones. David could still feel a small smile playing at his lips.</p><p>The guy laughed quietly to himself once more. Then, extending his hand to David across the space separating them, he said, “I’m Patrick, by the way.”</p><p>David did not pout down at his quaint offer for a handshake, but it was a near thing. He couldn't afford to patronize the one person in this airport David might be able to tolerate. He took Patrick’s hand and shook it. “David,” he replied.</p><p>✈️</p><p>David, as he'd long suspected, was not good at small talk.</p><p>In halting starts and stops, they’d covered all the acquaintance-appropriate basics, the <em>where are you from</em>’s and <em>what do you do</em>’s, their answers censored accordingly given the fact that they were still complete strangers. David certainly wasn’t about to hand his GPS coordinates over to this guy, no matter how disarmingly genuine he might seem.</p><p>As they’d talked, Patrick had been appropriately repentant about his business degree, charmingly boastful about his parents—“Clint and Marcy,” apparently—and decidedly overeager about light beers, which did seem to be in character. In return, he’d asked David a balanced series of kind, non-probing questions about his work and home life, and didn’t even make fun of him for his lukewarm answers.</p><p>For all of his sweet sincerity, however, Patrick was equally as sharp and self-assured. He was unmoved by David’s withering looks or tart remarks, meeting David beat for beat like it was second nature to him. He stood his ground despite David’s disinterest when arguing that baseball, not lacrosse, should have been named “Canada’s National Summer Sport,” which David still did not believe was a real act of Parliament, and offered only benevolent skepticism toward David’s most self-indulgent claims. When David had declared, “I’m wildly popular. Some might even venture to call me beloved,” Patrick had only wrinkled his nose and said, “That seems like a bit of a stretch.”</p><p>Somehow, Patrick was even funnier than David had initially thought, astute and quick and sure of himself in a way David could only pretend to be. Yet, while he was forthcoming when asked about something specific, David had rather gotten the impression that Patrick was withholding a lot more about himself than was necessary, much like David himself had done. And since neither of them had managed to divulge a single interesting thing about themselves outside of some strong sports- and pop diva-related opinions, they’d landed right back where they’d started: uncomfortable silence.</p><p>Just as David was beginning to think some additional social lubricant in the form of airport vodka would be necessary for him to stomach the next however many hours, another bedraggled looking Delta employee finally arrived at their side of the terminal. He was handing out more meal vouchers, and unlike the previous girl, looked less like he was being held hostage and more like he’d developed Stockholm Syndrome several months ago.</p><p>“Oh thank god,” David muttered in relief, eagerly accepting his coupon. He’d spent his last one on parfaits way too early.</p><p>“And where will you be dining this evening?” Patrick asked loftily once the man had shuffled along to the next group of passengers. “The first or second Subway, or the first or second Timmies? I never have been able to figure out why they need more than one in such a confined space.”</p><p>“It’s cute that they think fifteen dollars -” David waved the voucher in the air, “- can buy a whole meal at airport prices,” David said. “I will therefore be dining wherever I can afford to purchase more than one item.”</p><p>Patrick laughed, nodding. “I thought I might mix things up and walk to the pizza place down by the international gates,” he replied.</p><p>“Mmm, a bold choice,” David said. “Be safe on your long journey.”</p><p>Patrick only smiled at him and began picking himself up from the floor. David watched as he gathered all of his carry-on items together, unplugging his phone and zipping away the charger before hefting his backpack over his shoulders. Ever mindful of the safety warnings, David had seen Patrick haul all of his belongings with him on several trips to the bathroom and the vending machines throughout the day. Now, as Patrick reached for his clunky guitar case once more, it occurred to David that <em>he</em> could look after his things for him. So Patrick could carry his dinner with his hands free. That would be the nice thing to do, wouldn’t it?</p><p>“Um,” David started. “You don’t need to...bring all of that. If you don’t want to. I can stay here. And wait until you get back, before I go get my food. So our bags aren’t unattended. You know. In case you don’t want to have to carry everything. Again.”</p><p>David groaned internally. He squeezed his eyes shut, cringing at how unnatural he sounded offering up a simple favor.</p><p>When he’d gathered enough strength to look up again, however, Patrick was just hovering above him, gazing down at David like he’d suggested something much more profound than ‘I’ll try not to let someone steal your stuff.’</p><p>“That would be great, actually,” he said. “Thanks, David.”</p><p>He was already dropping his backpack to the floor.</p><p>“Oh. Okay,” David said, a little surprised that Patrick had agreed so easily. “Um. Enjoy your pizza?”</p><p>Patrick nodded in thanks, shooting a kind, closed mouth smile David’s way before walking off towards the next concourse.</p><p>David watched him go. “Hm,” he frowned.</p><p>He wasn’t sure what he was supposed to do now. He picked up Patrick’s backpack from where he’d dropped it and gently situated it next to the guitar case.</p><p>“Okay,” David repeated to himself, more confident now. He settled in, leaning back against the window like Patrick had done.</p><p>He expected Patrick to be gone for a while. Who knew how long the lines would be, with everyone hot to spend their vouchers, or how much time it would take Patrick to finish his meal. Not fifteen minutes later, however, David looked up and saw Patrick rounding the corner again, pizza and soda in hand.</p><p>He settled easily back into his chosen spot, balancing the paper plate across his knees. “Your turn,” he said, cheerful.</p><p>David just stared at him.</p><p>Patrick had a parmesan cheese packet sprinkled over everything on his plate and the pizza raised halfway to his mouth before he realized David was staring at him instead of leaving.</p><p>“Don’t worry,” he assured, lowering the slice. “I’m still not planning to steal your phone.”</p><p>“You could’ve eaten there,” David said. “You’re not like, stuck here with me permanently, you know. I wouldn’t have minded waiting for you to finish.” David found he really wouldn’t have minded, either.</p><p>Patrick looked at him quizzically. “That’s very thoughtful of you, David, but they really just hand you the food and send you on your way. It’s not like there’s a nice place to sit. This is an airport,” he said. “This pizza was probably made two hours ago. Not exactly fine dining.”</p><p>“Oh, I’m very aware,” David said.</p><p>He didn’t know why all of this was making him feel so out of place anyway. Shaking his head to rid himself of any lingering oddness, David pulled himself up off the floor with a huff.</p><p>“I guess I’m going to go get a breakfast sandwich,” he announced. “At seven o’clock in the evening.”</p><p><em>Incorrect</em>, David thought.</p><p>Patrick just raised his pizza slice to him. “You enjoy that,” he said around a mouthful of food.</p><p>David returned Patrick’s unapologetic smirk with a disgusted grimace, then set off toward the combination bakery-slash-cafe where he’d purchased his mediocre yogurt parfaits earlier.</p><p>For how poor the dining options were, the Toronto airport did have an admirably sophisticated selection of retail outlets. David did his best to ignore the ever-present weight of humiliation in his gut, manifesting in the form of a second ulcer, as he passed by the sleek, glimmering storefronts of Gucci and Bvlgari. Even the quintessential airport bookstore had taken on an enticing retail shine. David sighed wistfully at the selection of hardback books displayed at the front of the shop as he took his place in line at the bakery.</p><p>Despite the luxury options available, it was the dingy duty free shop further down the terminal that seemed to be drawing the biggest crowd. As he waited for his order, David watched the people trooping in and out of the store, almost all of them walking away with a surreptitiously bottle-shaped bag under their arm. David, stuck waiting for his pitiful evening breakfast to reheat, could only look on helplessly as the shelves of alcohol in the duty free dwindled away. Clearly everyone else had the same idea as David on how best to pass the time in airport purgatory.</p><p>When the bakery worker finally relinquished his moderately warm egg sandwich, muffin, and bottle of sparkling water (carefully chosen to reach a total of $14.89), David gathered the food close to his chest, protecting whatever integrity it had left, and did a dignified power walk over to the duty free. Dodging elbows through the crowded shop, he managed to claim one of the last bottles of middle shelf vodka. His situation was dire, but not even a night in an airport would extort David into drinking gin.</p><p>He returned to his and Patrick’s spot by the windows, empty sandwich wrapper in hand, already unscrewing the cap from the vodka.</p><p>“Wow,” Patrick said, eyes widening at David as he approached. He had finished his pizza and was sitting with his arms wound loosely around his knees, holding his wrist. “I was going to suggest we go to the bar, but this seems much more efficient.”</p><p>David nodded his head slowly, knowingly, eyebrows raised.</p><p>He lifted the bottle and toasted, “To our health,” before bringing it to his mouth and taking a long drink.</p><p>✈️</p><p>David felt himself tumbling backwards and was powerless to stop it. The only thing that prevented him from ending up in a heap on the floor was the edge of Patrick’s shoulder he landed against. And he couldn’t stop fucking <em>giggling</em> either. If the bottle of vodka just out of his reach was a third more full, David would at least have the wherewithal to be embarrassed about that.</p><p>“Shhh,” Patrick hushed, though he was snickering too, a clumsy finger raised to his lips. “Shhhhh.”</p><p>It wasn’t even that late. The younger families might have gone to bed, but they’d tucked themselves far enough away that their annoying kids would be less of a nuisance on everyone else. So David and Patrick wouldn’t be waking them up. The other, more sensible passengers were either catching up to David and Patrick’s level of inebriation or otherwise unbothered.</p><p>Patrick had picked a nice spot to sit. David had picked a nice vodka to drink. Everyone was bringing something to the table here.</p><p>Over the last several hours, David and Patrick had devolved from stilted conversation into a raucous game of Never Have I Ever, like freshman year all over again. David had lost twelve consecutive times in a row—Patrick seemed to have a preternatural ability for guessing some of the more outlandish things David had done in his pre-Schitt’s Creek life. After they got bored with that game, they’d started inventing sordid histories for all of their fellow passengers.</p><p>In hushed tones, David had recounted the glamorous rise and terrible fall of the curly-haired woman sitting over at the next gate. She was an acupuncturist with a dark secret and an encyclopedic knowledge of animal taxonomies. Patrick explained how the tall bearded man by the trash cans was searching for his long-lost childhood best friend. All he had to find her was what they’d buried in the 20-year time capsule he’d just dug up from his parents’ backyard and a magic compass given to him by his late grandmother. It was all very tragic and heartrending. David thought he’d seen a D-list sci-fi rom-com with that same plot, but he didn’t mention it.</p><p>When a younger woman passed by on the way to the bathroom, David regaled Patrick with the tale of how she’d been orphaned at a young age and lured into the clutches of a mid-level marketing cult, only to be redeemed by the love of another woman and a ski accident in Lake Tahoe involving helicopter rescue in what was a <em>very</em> uplifting third act, if David did say so himself.</p><p>Patrick had just finished telling David about their latest target, the creepy looking guy sitting across from the acupuncturist. Apparently his name was Clarence Schmidlap. He was a contract killer who moonlighted as a mortician and had recently been booed off stage at an amateur comedy gig for his “City Morgue: I stab ‘em <em>and</em> slab ‘em” joke. He was now on the run to the Czech Republic, which didn’t have an extradition treaty with Canada according to Patrick.</p><p>David wasn’t confident they were being quiet enough that the subjects of their gossip couldn’t actually overhear everything they were saying, but he was laughing too hard to care.</p><p>“Wait, wait, wait,” he giggled, smacking at Patrick’s arm with the back of his hand before he could start in on someone new. “Let me do you next, let me do you.”</p><p>David clumsily straightened from his sprawl across the floor, sitting up at the precise 90 degree angle his mother had ingrained in his head by the third grade. David narrowed his eyes at Patrick with as much concentration as he could muster, tilting his head just slightly this way and that as he studied him. Patrick attempted to mirror his serious expression, frowning exaggeratedly, failing to force down his smile. A poorly withheld giggle bubbled up from his throat.</p><p>He looked ridiculous. He was pale enough that the flush of alcohol had turned his entire face pink, and he was just as glassy eyed as David probably was. He seemed like the type of person who liked to stay neat and buttoned up all day, but after spending the last hour essentially collapsed on the floor with David, Patrick was looking delightfully unkempt. He looked <em>good</em>, loose and happy, and David noticed himself noticing.</p><p>“Stop laughing,” David admonished him, but he was laughing too. He had to close his eyes so he couldn’t see Patrick gazing at him—so David couldn’t keep admiring his warm, handsome face.</p><p>“I think…” David began slowly, drawing out the words, still mulling over what he wanted to say.</p><p>The other stories he’d made up had been purposefully ridiculous for the sake of their game, but now David found himself trying to put together everything he’d learned about Patrick, aiming for the truth. He <em>wanted</em> to know Patrick’s story, the real one. Maybe if he got close enough, Patrick would fill in the details he’d missed.</p><p>David started talking. “I think you’re a nice, small town guy, a real boy next door type. Toronto suburbs, maybe a little further out than that. You’ve never met someone who didn’t like you or you couldn’t make friends with if you tried. You play baseball, obviously. You’re probably one of the ones who wears the big ugly glove -”</p><p>“Well, everyone wears gloves in the outfield -”</p><p>“I don’t care.” David kept going. “Girls love you because you’re nice, but you always let them down easy because you’ve been going steady with your high school sweetheart for the last decade.”</p><p>David saw Patrick’s expression shift; he altered his strategy accordingly.</p><p>“College sweetheart,” he corrected himself. “You met in that godawful public speaking class you have to take your first year and have been inseparable since. You probably have a beautiful two-bedroom ranch style house and a dog that sheds everywhere.</p><p>“But if we know all of that -” David said, pausing for emphasis, “- then the real question is: Why are you in the airport by yourself, getting drunk with me?”</p><p>It was a rhetorical question. Even if it wasn’t, David didn’t give Patrick the opportunity to answer.</p><p>“You’re a musician,” David continued, hands gesturing expressively with each new detail he added to Patrick’s backstory. “The guitar kind of gave you away, I’ll admit, and based on your Schmidlap story you know more about the amateur performance circuit than I’m entirely comfortable with. Since you were sitting over here for the flight out to L.A. when I found you, I think you’re looking to break into the American market, and either have a meeting with a label exec or are looking to get one.</p><p>“While I won’t be able to help you with that particular endeavor as a result of an unfortunate ice luge accident involving Max Martin and another Swedish dignitary, I am intimately familiar with the greater L.A. area. So if you’d like recommendations on the best gastropubs between Silver Lake and Encino, or advice on how not to run into a Kardashian-Jenner, feel free to ask. L.A. was not my favorite penthouse but at least it doesn’t snow.”</p><p>David finished his monologue with dramatic flourish, gesturing out the window where the snow was now beginning to drift well above David’s head on the other side of the glass.</p><p>He returned his gaze triumphantly back to Patrick, who he expected to find grinning along with David’s elaborate interpretation of his life history, or preparing himself for another charmingly sarcastic take down of everything David had said. But Patrick just looked nauseous.</p><p>David’s smile immediately dropped from his face. His eyes flicked down to the bottle of vodka. Instinctively, he reached out to move it away from Patrick.</p><p>David could feel his heart beating fast inside his chest. He hadn’t noticed that before. He was suddenly very nervous, and it wasn’t just the looming threat of possible vomit. He’d definitely said something wrong, and he wasn’t sure he was willing to go back through every point he’d just laid out in order to determine what he should apologize for.</p><p>David didn’t want to be the one to break the awful silence elongating between them either, but he felt like he had to now.</p><p>“Um,” David mumbled weakly. All evidence of his previous confident enthusiasm had disappeared right along with his vodka buzz, which had instantly evaporated from his body at Patrick’s reaction. Wincing, David forced himself to ask, “How much did I get right?”</p><p>Patrick was just staring vacantly at David, seemingly without really looking at him. After a long, drawn out moment that felt even longer than it really was, he finally broke from his motionless daze. He cleared his throat.</p><p>“Um. Well,” Patrick began, subdued. “I am from a small town outside of Toronto, I’ve never met someone who didn’t like me, and I do play baseball. So you got all of that right. And, uh. Two weeks ago I called off my engagement to the girl I’ve been with since high school, effectively blowing up my fifteen year relationship with the only person I’ve ever seriously dated.”</p><p>David went completely still.</p><p>Patrick continued, not meeting his eyes. “I don’t think I let her down easy, though. I called off our marriage and haven’t talked to her since. I couldn’t even handle staying in the town we grew up in where everyone has known both of us since the day we were born and were all invited to the wedding, so I packed all of my things and bought a ticket for the first flight I could find out of Toronto. Sort of a ‘midnight train going anywhere’ situation.”</p><p>Patrick cleared his throat again, trying to loosen the grip of emotion lodged there, which David was also pretending not to notice. Patrick blinked his wide eyes, shaking his head slightly. He still hadn’t looked at David.</p><p>“We hadn’t bought a house together yet, and no dog, so at least there’s that. I was staying with my parents after I moved out of our…Rachel’s apartment. I am a musician, I guess, in the sense that I can play guitar. I’ve never done anything professional besides a few open mic nights though. I haven’t even really played it for the last couple years, since everything…” Patrick trailed off. After a painful beat of silence, he tacked on, “I do like gastropubs though.” Like that could distract from everything else he’d just said.</p><p>David could count on one hand the number of times he’d been rendered speechless. Now, for the sixth time in his life, David had no fucking idea what to say. He really could not have fucked up this conversation more if he’d tried. David almost wished he <em>had</em> tried a little harder, was a little less nosy. Maybe then he would’ve just made up another dumb story for Patrick instead of inadvertently reciting a laundry list of all the things Patrick obviously believed to be his greatest mistakes in life.</p><p>David didn’t know what to say, so he let instinct take over.</p><p>He opened his mouth and said, “Wow. Do you think they’ll make you check all that baggage at the gate?”</p><p>It was the sort of biting, offhand remark his family wouldn’t even bat a lash at. But having said it now, to this person, in this setting? David was pretty sure he was having an out of body of experience. He heard his own voice echoing inside his head, repeating the words he’d once used to scold his mother. <em>I have never heard someone say so many wrong things, one after the other, consecutively, in a row. </em>If his genetic pool was any indication, David was clearly fucked for life.</p><p>He was just determining the best way to run away from this conversation with both the vodka and what was left of his dignity and never see Patrick again for the rest of his penance in this godforsaken airport when, to his left, Patrick began to laugh.</p><p>Still sitting beside him, not stalking off in disgust, not condemning David for saying something so incredibly insensitive, Patrick was laughing. He slumped back down against the window the way they’d both been sitting earlier, practically in hysterics, holding his stomach.</p><p>David watched him in disbelief. Then, slowly, he felt his soul begin to creep back into his body. A smile grew across David’s face, turning up one corner of his mouth as the crushing weight of embarrassment and self-loathing gradually lifted from his shoulders. Maybe he hadn’t fucked this up beyond repair after all.</p><p>Finally, through his laughter, Patrick spoke. “Too late,” he said, wiping away a tear. “They already gouged me with overweight fees when I checked my other bags.”</p><p>It took David a second to register the joke, then he was laughing too. Relief, along with a feeling David might tentatively identify as contentment if pressed, coursed through his entire body. David let himself get lost in the sensation.</p><p>They only managed to compose themselves again after several breathless minutes when the woman sitting across from David and Patrick had had enough, shushing them with just enough malice to shut them both up.</p><p>The tension between him and Patrick receded, and the silence that settled in after it was comfortable. Taking several deep, quelling breaths, David reached for his long-forgotten phone to check the time. It really was getting late now. If by some miracle they were actually able to fly out in the morning, it was going to be a miserable day of travel on so little sleep.</p><p>David still felt there was more he had to say, though. Peering over at Patrick, David was surprised to find he actually <em>wanted</em> to extend Patrick some honesty in return, and not just out of a selfish need to assuage his own guilt.</p><p>Softly, David told Patrick, “If hearing my deeply embarrassing backstory will make you feel any better, I’m happy to share.”</p><p>He didn’t give Patrick the chance to respond—didn’t give himself the time to second guess his offer. David just started talking.</p><p>“I’m broke and jobless. My last career, if you can even call it that, was as a sales associate at a place called the Blouse Barn. That was probably my first and only real job, actually. Turns out my parents paid off all the patrons at the gallery I used to own back in New York. I only recently learned about that particular Judas kiss; still struggling to cope with the deep feelings of inadequacy as a result.”</p><p>David glanced up, wondering if he should even bother to continue. Patrick was just watching him carefully, listening intently.</p><p>David kept talking. “I’m an adult man living with my adult sister in a one and a half bedroom apartment that someone very recently died in. And I say ‘adult man’ because I’m too insecure to admit my actual age. I only have one real friend, so getting drunk with a stranger in an airport has been the most exciting thing I’ve done in months. The most fun too.”</p><p>That felt like something David was also admitting to himself for the first time, not just Patrick. David shook his head to clear the thought.</p><p>“My personal life is a joke,” he continued. “Like there have been actual articles on TMZ. I’m on my way back to a town that is literally called Schitt’s Creek, which unfortunately is not a joke. My family technically owns the town because my dad gave me the deed as a birthday present. One of his better gifts, really. Schitt’s Creek might be the only thing we own now, actually, because we lost all of our money two years ago. I still haven’t figured out who I am without it.”</p><p>David felt himself start in place. That was something he'd never planned on saying out loud.</p><p>It was this place, David thought, this fucking weird series of events that had ended with him sitting on the crumby floor, telling secrets to a stranger. There was something so liminal about an airport—even more so after midnight; any consequences David might normally have feared felt far removed where he sat now, back against the cold glass of the window.</p><p>There was something about Patrick’s eyes too, their warmth and sincerity. It made David feel like he could be honest without having to cut himself open on the jagged edge of each admission. Because Patrick wasn’t asking David to draw blood—would probably never think to ask that of him. He was just listening, present and unquestioning.</p><p>David was most definitely not ready to linger on any of those weighty realizations, however. There was only so much late night vulnerability he could tolerate, and David was pretty sure he’d reached his limit well over 15 minutes ago.</p><p>He tried to course correct back toward something innocuous without making it too obvious.</p><p>“Also, I’m afraid of moths, businesswomen in sneakers, and the entire spectrum of genuine human emotion,” David added lamely, cringing; he’d missed ambiguity so completely he’d landed right back at being fully transparent.</p><p>It was as good of a place as any to stop though. Less embarrassing than the other details he’d shared about himself, even.</p><p>Across from him, Patrick just sat silent and still in the wake of all of David’s honesty, clearly absorbing everything that he’d said. David sat quietly too, giving him the time to do so. The wait stretched on much longer than David would have preferred, but he ignored the needling hum of anxiety urging to him to fill the silence with more humiliating facts about himself.</p><p>Finally, Patrick said, “Thank you, David.” Nothing more.</p><p>David met his eyes. He shook his head, confused. “For what?” he asked quietly.</p><p>“You’re the first person I’ve told who hasn’t made me feel worse about everything with the engagement,” Patrick said.</p><p>Given the fact that his immediate response had been an insult, David thought Patrick was being a little overgenerous.</p><p>“That seems like a bit of a stretch,” he said, borrowing Patrick’s words from before.</p><p>Patrick laughed, which was the reaction David had been hoping for.</p><p>“Thanks for telling me all that about yourself, too,” Patrick added. “You didn’t have to.” Then, sucking in a breath through his teeth, which David was coming to realize prefaced him saying something flippant, Patrick said, “Really. It didn’t make me feel much better. Kinda just made me feel sad for you, actually. But I appreciate it anyway.”</p><p>David bit back a smile, covering it up with what he hoped resembled a displeased scowl. “<em>Okay</em>,” he said. He waved his hands in the air, circling Patrick’s entire being. “I think that’s enough from you for one night.”</p><p>Patrick put his palms up in surrender, grinning. “Hey, you started it.”</p><p>David just shook his head, projecting exasperation but feeling nothing but delight. When he turned away from Patrick, it felt like the first time in hours.</p><p>Capping the bottle of vodka, David retrieved the cheap, Delta-branded polyester nightmare he’d been given that afternoon. Despite his complaints, it did seem to function well enough as a blanket. Folding his jacket into a makeshift pillow, David curled up around his tote and let his eyes fall shut. In the morning he would be disgusted with himself for not brushing his teeth or washing his face, and for disrespecting the expensive Japanese denim under his head. For now though, David was feeling light enough—from whatever vodka was left in his bloodstream, and from the night spent with Patrick—that he let himself get away with it.</p><p>He was asleep before Patrick even returned from the bathroom. When he felt a hand reach down and gently adjust the blanket around his shoulders, David knew he was already dreaming.</p><p>✈️</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. DAY TWO</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>They weren’t able to fly out in the morning.</p><p>David was not awoken by a chipper overhead announcement calling for priority boarding, the first alarm in his life he might’ve actually appreciated hearing. Instead, he was woken up before six o’clock fucking AM by the hiss and scream of milk being steamed over at the coffee shop, and the actual screams of a crying baby. He’d been conscious for 30 seconds and David was already exhausted.</p><p>It got worse. When he eventually managed to peel open his eyes, David instantly knew no flights would be leaving Toronto today. The blizzard looked even more apocalyptic by the light of the morning. Snow was still falling heavily on the other side of the window, gusts of wind whipping it across the open airfield in fierce horizontal lines. Only dim gray light filtered into the terminal, the windows blocked by snow stuck to the glass like clotted cream. At the far end of the airbridge, the orange windsock that had mesmerized David for no less than 20 minutes yesterday was now in tatters, ruined by the ice and wind.</p><p>David groaned, rolling away from the window and onto his back. Through squinted eyes, David could see some of the other passengers beginning to wake up around him. Everyone looked just as sore and miserable as David felt, slouched together in tired groups of identical blue Delta blanket piles, stretching stiffly in place. If the knot in David’s back was any example, sleeping on the floor had not done anyone any favors.</p><p>The outlook was pretty fucking bleak.</p><p>Then, like a heaven-sent reason to stay alive, David caught a whiff of freshly brewed coffee somewhere nearby. Following his nose, David turned to his left and found a large paper cup waiting on the floor next to his head. Steam drifted up in lazy lines from the rim—it was still hot. A second, smaller cup sat next to the coffee. Frowning, David levered himself up onto an elbow to peer down inside it. A handful of sugars, alternative sweetener packets, and flavored single-serve creamers had been stuffed inside.</p><p>“I didn’t know how you take your coffee, so I just grabbed a few of whatever they had,” explained a voice from above David’s head.</p><p>David looked up and saw Patrick sitting on the nearest bench of airport seats. He’d materialized a laptop from somewhere and was sitting with it balanced atop his crossed legs, one calf propped up against the opposite knee. In his free hand he held a third cup from the same coffee shop David’s had come from, a tea bag string dangling against the side of it. He was close enough that David could see the creases on Patrick’s face, leftover from whatever random object he’d used as a pillow during the night.</p><p>“Hello,” David greeted after a long pause, more than a little taken aback by Patrick’s thoughtfulness. It was embarrassing how soft his voice sounded.</p><p>Patrick just smiled at him. “Good morning,” he said. “Sleep well?”</p><p>David could’ve laughed. “You know very well that I did not,” he pronounced. He picked up the warm cup and held it between his palms, taking a small sip to test the temperature. “Someone really ought to get in touch with the UN about the humanitarian conditions here.”</p><p>Patrick chuckled. “Yeah, I didn’t sleep well either,” he said.</p><p>David felt his face melt into a genuine smile. God, it was too early for this kind of cozy, familiar banter. He’d had one night stands with less genuine warmth than this, and David hadn’t even fucked Patrick. He took a long drink of his coffee to hide his expression.</p><p>Patrick went back to typing on his laptop, and for the next few minutes they just sat together in the muffled quiet of the early morning, existing comfortably side by side. David took the time to add a few sugar packets to his coffee—Patrick had even brought him stir sticks. David pouted helplessly down at his little cup of coffee supplies, touched.</p><p>They’d both emptied their respective drinks by the time Patrick finished whatever he was working on. Closing the screen, he set the laptop aside on the seat next to him. By now David was settled back into his sordid excuse for a bed and had already completed his morning perusal of the requisite social media sites. He was just considering whether he’d be able to fall asleep again with all the noise of the airport coming alive around him when he felt Patrick’s eyes on him. Meeting his gaze, David raised his brows in question.</p><p>Patrick didn’t say anything, just continued to look at him. David dropped his phone against his chest. “<em>What?</em>” he demanded.</p><p>Patrick smirked. “I like the hair,” he said.</p><p>Immediately, David’s hands shot up to his head. His stomach turned when he realized what a day and night in the airport had done to him.</p><p>“Oh my <em>god</em>,” he gasped. He snatched up the jacket he was still using as a pillow and wrapped it hastily around his head, covering up everything he could. “You couldn’t have said something before now?!”</p><p>Patrick gestured to David’s new choice of headwear, sarcasm practically dripping from his fingertips. “Because this is so much better?”</p><p>“<em>Yes</em>,” David insisted. “I’ll have you know that until I was forced to live with my family again, no one had seen me in a state like this since I was nine years old.”</p><p>“So I should feel honored then,” Patrick nodded.</p><p>David fumed. Ignoring Patrick’s pestering, he turned away to rip open his tote, pawing through it in search of anything that might fix this whole...situation. Which was the moment David realized he had nothing with him other than the clothes on his back, his phone and charger, and the book he’d brought to read on the plane. He’d checked his suitcase yesterday, which contained any other clothing options he might’ve had access to, and all of his skin and hair care products. And his toothbrush.</p><p>“Fuck!” David hissed, mostly to himself.</p><p>“Don’t tell me,” Patrick butted in again, “You didn’t pack any essentials in your carry-on? David. That’s an amateur mistake. What if your flight got cancelled?”</p><p>David glared at him over his shoulder. “You’re a lot less charming in the morning,” he accused.</p><p>Patrick blinked, wide-eyed. “You think I’m charming?” he said.</p><p>David hastily diverted away from that subject. “So you want me to believe you, what? Have a secret stash of overnight supplies in your bag on the off chance you end up stranded in an airport by a freak blizzard?”</p><p>He watched in disbelief as Patrick reached inside his ubiquitous backpack, now resting at his feet, and pulled out a tidy plastic bag full of travel-sized products. Holding it out as proof, he raised his eyebrows at David, a challenge.</p><p>David felt his mouth snap shut. “And you couldn’t have said something about <em>this</em> before now either?” he said, voice low.</p><p>“I even have an extra toothbrush,” Patrick said, grinning. He was mocking him now. “Would you like to borrow it?”</p><p>David rolled his eyes, head, and neck in one fluid motion, full of begrudging indignation. He sighed and reluctantly met Patrick’s eyes again. “Do you have a facial cleanser?”</p><p>Patrick just handed him the baggie, which David promptly dumped all over the floor without ceremony. He set the extra toothbrush and little tube of toothpaste aside before sorting through the rest of the products. What he found was less than encouraging.</p><p>“Oh my god,” David said. He lifted his hands away from the pile of containers like they were hazardous. “After seeing all this I’m not sure you have any right to be gloating.”</p><p>Patrick tilted his head in question.</p><p>David held up the single facial cleanser he’d found between forefinger and thumb, barely touching it. “This is a <em>generic</em>,” he said. “I didn’t even know they still made these.”</p><p>Patrick shrugged, still not getting it. “That’s the kind I use at home. It seems to work fine for me.”</p><p>“Oh god,” David shuddered. He had to look away, take a moment for himself. He swallowed down his gag reflex.</p><p>When he’d gathered enough courage to face Patrick again, he tried to explain the gravity of the situation.</p><p>“This,” David circled a finger around his face, “is a delicate, carefully cultivated ecosystem. Do you have any idea what this will do to my complexion? I can already feel the moisture being sucked out of my skin just by holding the bottle.” David turned the container to review the ingredients. He gasped. “And the <em>sulfates</em> -”</p><p>“Okay, David?” Patrick interrupted. He was the picture of amused indifference. “If you’re looking for something with a few more AHAs, maybe go rifle through another random stranger’s toiletries. Or better yet, go to the duty free.” He said it all with a placid smile.</p><p>David felt his left eye narrow. “Mmkay,” he drew out the word. “While your knowledge of hydroxy acids is a delightful and unexpected surprise, I’m afraid you’re confusing your exfoliants with your humectants. And I very much do not appreciate the tone,” David added. “Do you at least have an occlusive hiding in your little bag here?” he fussed around with a few more of the products, scattering them across his blanket. “Perhaps a cold-pressed rosehip seed oil?”</p><p>He looked up at Patrick expectantly. Patrick just stared back at him, his blank smile unmoving. “What do you think.”</p><p>In response, David closed his eyes, took a calming breath, and surrendered to the inevitable. Securing his jacket more tightly around his head, he gathered up the few supplies he could tolerate and made his way to the bathroom without another word. He would have a much-needed conversation with Patrick about the importance of a personalized skincare routine later.</p><p>✈️</p><p>There was only so much he could fix in a public bathroom sink. David didn’t have years of experience with high-stakes airport self-care like Alexis, but he did feel slightly more like himself by the time he was finished. Presentable enough that he no longer had to wear the jacket on his head in fear of besmirching his well-kept reputation, at the very least.</p><p>Wisely, Patrick didn’t say a word when David returned.</p><p>Like New York City traffic, or the congealed fondue David had once mistakenly ordered at the cafe, the morning soon lapsed into an agonizing standstill. Time passed even slower than it had yesterday—“As slow as molasses in January,” Patrick declared, whatever that was supposed to mean. David was pretty sure it was still January, but he had no idea what molasses had to do with anything.</p><p>By noon, David had already finished his book. On Patrick’s recommendation, he downloaded a free 7-day audiobook trial instead of going to buy another one. Plugging in his headphones, David curled up on the floor with his head under a bench of seats to keep the overhead lights out of his eyes. Patrick laid down in the opposite direction, feet propped up on one of the seats, laptop screen three inches from his face where he had it sitting on his chest, tucked under his chin. Any passersby were forced to step over them both to get through, stretched out across the walk as they were, but no one asked them to move.</p><p>Surprisingly, between the two of them, Patrick was the first one to crack. David wasn’t exactly comfortable lying in his little under-seat grotto, staring up at the old chewing gum stuck to the bottom of the chairs, but he had managed to successfully tune out the increasingly claustrophobic airport with the soothing narration of the audiobook. He might’ve even fallen asleep eventually, if not for Patrick kicking at his socked feet and demanding David entertain him.</p><p>“I can’t take it anymore,” Patrick pleaded with David when he peeked his head out from under his bench. “Can we please go do something? I’ve played 54 hands of solitaire and I feel like I’m going crazy. Are you hungry? I’m hungry. I’ll buy you lunch.”</p><p>David had encountered only two circumstances in which he would actively choose to turn down a free meal, and this was not one of them.</p><p>The single sit-down establishment in the terminal was packed, as was to be expected. Everyone in the airport had just as little to do as David and Patrick, and people were starting to go stir crazy. After a 20-minute wait, they were seated on the far side of the restaurant in a small booth overlooking the concourse. The table was slightly sticky, and David didn’t care for the menu design, but the place did serve alcohol.</p><p>“Hair of the dog that bit you?” Patrick wondered aloud as their server left with David’s mimosa order.</p><p>David balked, insulted. “I’m not <em>hungover</em>,” he said. “We hardly even drank that much.”</p><p>It was the first either of them had mentioned the previous night, and David had no intention of revisiting any part of that particular conversation.</p><p>“It’s three o’clock,” he said, changing the topic. “A perfectly acceptable hour to drink in an airport. Time is meaningless here. I don’t even know what day it is anymore.”</p><p>“Thursday,” Patrick supplied helpfully.</p><p>From there the conversation took a sharp left turn into a debate about the merits and acceptable uses of a lemon garnish, after David watched Patrick pluck the complementary wedge from his glass of water and plunge the whole thing in with the end of his straw.</p><p>They were still going at it by the time their server returned with David’s mimosa. David barely noticed its appearance.</p><p>“I just don’t like the taste of water,” Patrick was trying to explain, like that wasn’t a completely preposterous thing to say. “The lemon helps.”</p><p>David didn’t relent. “Well then <em>squeeze</em> in the juice if you must! The lemon is there for aesthetic purposes only, not for you to make some kind of dirty, backwater sangria out of it!” David said, voice raising in alarm. “Do you know how many unwashed hands probably touched that thing before you went and made a petri dish of your water with it? Lemon wedges are one of the most unsanitary items in a commercial kitchen. Unless properly prepared with gloves and stored in -”</p><p>Patrick just sipped on his contaminated drink, unblinking in the face of David’s very valid line of reasoning.</p><p>The only thing that stopped David from opening the annotated list of statistics he had saved on his phone was their server, who made an unsubtle <em>ahem</em> noise from where she was still waiting at the side of their table. She had her notepad flipped open over her hand, ready to take their order. David hadn’t even opened a menu, too invested in arguing with Patrick about fucking lemon slices, partly for the sake of Patrick’s health, but mostly for the fun of it.</p><p>Somehow, in the space of a day, he and Patrick had already settled into the exact kind of back and forth, low-stakes bickering David craved. It was a marvel, really. David would never claim to be an expert in forging genuine interpersonal relationships; the only other person he could remember connecting with this quickly was Stevie, and David had only recently convinced himself that wasn’t just a friendship of convenience resulting from them both being stuck in Schitt’s Creek.</p><p>David had no doubts about the reality of his and Patrick’s relationship, however. The word “relationship” could hardly even be applied to this situation with a straight face. Never again would David question the bond he had with Stevie, now that he knew what an actual friendship of convenience looked like. This weird, symbiotic repartee that came so easily to him and Patrick was unquestionably born out of their shared circumstance; David was smart enough to recognize that. It was a temporary connection with an expiration date even shorter than the best of his failed relationships. As soon as the weather cleared he’d likely never see Patrick again, and all of the jokes and shared secrets and time spent together would become just another part of some offhand story David told that no one believed.</p><p>David was not letting himself get attached.</p><p>His thoughts were interrupted again by the server, who was waving a pen between him and Patrick. “How long have you two been together?” she asked, smiling, like she thought the little tiff she’d walked in on was sweet.</p><p>“Oh, we’re not -” David began, quick to correct her.</p><p>At the same time, Patrick answered without hesitation, “About twenty-four hours.” He looked at his wrist to confirm the time on the watch he wasn’t wearing, then back at David. “That sound right to you, David?”</p><p>David, thrown by Patrick’s breezy response, took a second to come up with a good answer.</p><p>“Twenty-four too many,” he said finally, but there wasn’t any heat behind it. Patrick grinned at him from across the booth. David tried not to smile back and failed. “Honestly, I can’t wait to say goodbye to you.”</p><p>As if that wasn’t the biggest lie David had told in weeks.</p><p>“Oh!” the server said. She was looking between them in confusion. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to assume. We’ve had a lot of couples in, because of the snow, obviously, and you just seemed so -”</p><p>“It’s fine,” David interrupted, not unkindly. Frankly, David didn’t want to know what he and Patrick seemed like to an outside observer. He wasn’t getting attached.</p><p>The server—Summer, according to her name tag—took their order, a patty melt for Patrick and a chicken strip basket for David, and left. She wasn’t gone for long, however. Despite how busy the restaurant was, she returned to their booth frequently to deposit a basket of condiments on the table, or refill their water glasses (Patrick took the opportunity to request a few extra lemons, just to goad David), or ask if they needed anything else. Any excuse she could find to make small talk.</p><p>It was obvious to David that after hearing their relationship status—or lack thereof—Summer had quickly sized up Patrick, with his sweet face and honest interest in conversation with her even though they’d never see each other again and his ringless finger and decided he was worth a little extra attention, and probably her number on their receipt once they were done eating. David could hardly begrudge her for it. Patrick was a catch, that much was obvious to anyone who spent more than 45 seconds around the man.</p><p>Over and over again, Patrick had proven himself to be annoyingly smart and surprisingly observant, so David knew Summer’s flirting wasn’t lost on him. She was straightforward, much like Patrick himself, and she hardly even glanced in David’s direction. Yet, though Patrick’s politeness never wavered during their meal, and he never brushed her off or acted even the slightest bit rude, David could tell he wasn’t interested. His dismissals were a work of art, really; Summer didn’t even know when she was no longer wanted. David would be impressed if he wasn’t so secretly pleased Patrick wasn’t indulging her. Even if Patrick was just doing it out of the same knee-jerk politeness he’d shown with Summer, trying not to make David feel like a third wheel. That, or Patrick’s recent breakup had really soured him to blondes—a feeling David could definitely relate to.</p><p>In the end, Patrick was good for his offer to pay for their meal, and just as David predicted, Summer had signed their receipt with her name, phone number, and a loopy cartoon heart. Patrick hardly glanced at it. He left the slip behind on the sticky table right next to the ugly menus. David had to execute some very complicated facial gymnastics in order to hide his grin.</p><p>He wasn’t getting attached though.</p><p>✈️</p><p>David had once thought himself above such pedestrian things like Tic Tac Toe or college-ruled paper not found in a fine leather Montblanc—just two more assumptions about himself he’d been forced to reevaluate within the last 30 hours.</p><p>“What about an H?” Patrick asked, frowning deeply in concentration. David hadn’t seen him blink once in the last minute.</p><p>Glancing down at the ripped sheet of notebook paper between them, David mentally filled in the letters between  _ _ ES  SA _ _ _  LA _ RE _ _.</p><p>He gave Patrick another commiserating pout. “Nope. Sorry.”</p><p>David grabbed the page from Patrick’s side and set to work adding fingers to the left arm of the hangman.</p><p>Patrick groaned, dropping his face into his hands. “I don’t even know why I suggested playing this.”</p><p>“Me neither,” David agreed, focusing on his sketch. “You’re not very good at it.”</p><p>During his last turn, David had very magnanimously added a courtesy bowtie, top hat, and a pair of brogues to his little stick man until Patrick was finally able to guess the word “callipygian.” Never before had his mother’s expansive vocabulary been more useful to David. He thought he’d gone easier this round with “Yves Saint Laurent,” but apparently the Hedi Slimane years had not been as influential on Patrick’s life as they’d been on David’s.</p><p>Upon returning from the restaurant, in their efforts to find something else to do, David and Patrick had quickly discovered the outer limits of the airport’s Wi-Fi functionality.</p><p>“This is my emotional hell,” David had informed Patrick, following several unsuccessful attempts to stream a movie. He refused to watch Jennifer Grey dance dirty in anything less than HD, let alone in glitchy, five second increments. “I could excuse us having to share headphones for this, but I draw the line at slow Wi-Fi. We put people in space! Semi-regularly! How is this still a problem?!”</p><p>So this was where they’d ended up instead, lying across from each other on the carpet, propped up on their elbows with a notebook and a pen to share, playing Patrick’s “road trip games.” David had never been on a road trip before—why bother with a car when you had a private jet?—but he was beginning to see the appeal.</p><p>He finished shading in the details of the hangman’s hand and looked back up at Patrick. “Have another guess?” he prompted.</p><p>“No,” Patrick said petulantly. He’d rolled onto his back and crossed his arms. “I give up.”</p><p>In the mental word cloud he was generating out of all the character traits he learned about Patrick, David added “sore loser,” right next to “overly competitive.” <strike></strike></p><p>“Okay,” David smirked, accepting Patrick’s surrender. He filled in the rest of the letters and leaned over to drop the sheet of paper onto Patrick’s chest, just in case he wanted to see the answer.</p><p>Elbows creaky and sore from lying on his stomach for so long, David followed Patrick’s lead and rolled over onto his back. He sighed heavily, reaching out for his phone to check the time. It wasn’t even seven o’clock yet.</p><p>“Really wish I would’ve splurged for that hotspot when I signed my new cellphone contract now…” Patrick muttered absently.</p><p>David stared up at the ceiling. “Yeah, well,” he said. “I wish I wasn’t wearing bespoke leather pants right now, so we all have some regrets.”</p><p>David couldn’t see his face from this angle, but he felt it when Patrick turned to stare.</p><p>“You wore leather pants?” he said. “To the airport?”</p><p>“It was only supposed to be a two-hour flight!” David cried, hands splaying defensively at his sides. “Two hours!”</p><p>Patrick laughed. “Well, as much as I wish I had some different pants to offer you, I think that notebook was the last interesting thing I had in my backpack.”</p><p>David hummed. “That’s very kind of you,” he said, “Though I shudder to think at what you would consider to be backup airport pants.”</p><p>“Gray cotton sweats,” Patrick answered immediately. “With elastic at the ankles. Been wearing the same pair for ten years.”</p><p>“...Ew.”</p><p>Patrick just laughed again.</p><p>After so many hours in the same spot, surrounded by the same people, all the noise of the airport had faded to a background static, barely noticeable unless David was paying attention. Now, in the absence of conversation, David started listening. From further down the concourse he could hear the distant sound of flushing toilets, the drinking fountain running, a soda can clanking down through a vending machine. All around him people were talking, but with so many conversations happening at once, the chatter just overlapped into a single, dissonant drone of words. From above, David could hear the periodic <em>clank</em> of the ceiling vents at work, along with the ever-present hum of warm air circulating through the terminal.</p><p>Lying as close as he was to the wall of windows, David could even hear the wind, still gusting outside. If he were to reach out and touch the cold glass, he would be able feel it vibrating under his palm.</p><p>Suddenly, apropos of nothing, Patrick spoke again.</p><p>“It stopped snowing,” he said quietly, voice carrying just far enough for David to hear.</p><p>Lifting his head from the carpet, David craned his neck to follow Patrick’s gaze. On the other side of the window, the sun had set behind the clouds, the last glimmer of evening light quickly dissolving from the horizon in a faint bloom of pale orange. Just enough light remained, however, for David to see the snowflakes, still dancing in the wind. David frowned, opening his mouth to correct Patrick. In the same moment, another sharp gust sang across the panes of glass; David watched as the wind lifted snow from the peaked crests of every drift surrounding the airfield, carrying the snow into the air and away.</p><p>Patrick was right. What the blizzard had left behind was still at the mercy of the tailwinds, but the snow itself had finally stopped falling.</p><p>David let his head fall back against the ground. His brows furrowed up at the ceiling. He felt…sad, almost. For all of his anticipation and impatience to get the fuck out of this airport, it was strange to know that his time here was coming to an end, that he only had to look out the window to see it happening. It wasn’t that he was unhappy to get back to his real life, or disappointed to leave the airport—either option made him feel equally out of place.</p><p>It was just…it felt like having to stop reading right when you got to the good part of a book, or those nonsense days that sometimes fell between Hanukkah and Christmas. Or a Sunday afternoon. Surreal and insignificant and a sudden weight on David’s heart he hadn’t been expecting, putting him off-balance.</p><p>It was Patrick’s voice that pulled David back to the present. “I guess I should’ve waited another day before deciding to hop on a plane,” he was saying. “Or at least checked the weather first.”</p><p><em>I’m glad you didn’t,</em> was David’s first thought. He didn’t voice the feeling, however. That sentiment was far too close to everything David wasn’t allowing himself to acknowledge.</p><p>Like every unwanted emotion that had come before it, David set aside the pointless heartsickness now thudding against his breastbone.</p><p>“And to think I was almost starting to miss home,” David quipped, forcing a laugh. “You know things are bad if it’s worse here than in Schitt’s fucking Creek.”</p><p>“It can’t be that awful,” Patrick said. “And I don’t think anywhere is worse than an airport,” he commented dryly.</p><p>“Mmm, you’d be surprised,” said David.</p><p>For a moment, indulgently, David tried to imagine what Schitt’s Creek would be like with Patrick in it. It was so easy to picture him sitting at the counter in the cafe, chatting happily with Twyla, or walking down the main street, hands in his pockets, or practicing with one of the recreational baseball teams David sometimes saw playing on that dilapidated field named after Ronnie. Patrick would probably love it in Schitt’s Creek. In all likelihood, the town wasn’t that much different from where he’d grown up. Patrick would fit right in, as kind and good-natured as the rest of the people in Schitt’s Creek. It was David and the rest of the Roses who were the odd ones out.</p><p>David should suggest switching their plane tickets. Patrick was searching for a new start in life, and David was still looking for a way to fit into his.</p><p>✈️</p><p>Before he even realized he was asleep, David was pulled from the brink of restless unconsciousness by a sharp jerk and a loud snort.</p><p>“Wha -” he croaked, eyes flying open.</p><p>Disoriented, David raised his head to take in his surroundings, patting his hair at the same time to ensure everything was still in place.</p><p>He was laid out on the floor—had been there for far too long if the deep ache in his limbs was any indication. It was much later now. The airport had gone still, only the sound of soft, murmured conversations filtering to the far end of the concourse. Some kind, nurturing Delta employee had even lowered the punishing fluorescents down to a dim, tranquil glow.</p><p>And Patrick was nowhere in sight. For the first time in over a day, the spot next to David was empty, the ubiquitous navy backpack nowhere to be found. David felt his heart skip one beat, then two before picking back up at twice the speed inside his chest.</p><p>Had flights already started boarding? Had he missed his plane?</p><p>Why hadn’t Patrick woken him up to say goodbye?</p><p>Then David heard the unmistakable sound of a guitar being played very close to his head, undoubtedly the same noise that had woken him. Blinking away the last dregs of sleep, David tilted his head back to find Patrick sitting against the window, the same place where David had first found him, now with his guitar out of its carrier and in his lap.</p><p>He was playing a simple, unhurried melody, seemingly picking it apart by ear as he went. His face was thoughtful, open as he watched his fingers move across the frets. The tune sounded familiar, though David couldn’t pinpoint where he’d heard it before.</p><p>David felt impossibly relieved. He took a deep breath in and out, letting his heartbeat slow and his eyes fall shut.</p><p>Normally David was opposed to public displays of white men playing guitar, just on principle. But this was Patrick, and Patrick seemed to know what he was doing. So against his better instincts, David didn’t immediately slap the guitar out of his hands, trusting Patrick not to embarrass himself—and by proximity, David—in the middle of this airport.</p><p>It was nice, actually, listening to Patrick play. Almost relaxing. He was clearly quite talented, despite Patrick’s own claims to the contrary. The music flowed easily from his fingertips, reverberating down the instrument and out through the mouth of the guitar. He was strumming the strings lightly, but the airport was now quiet enough that the notes echoed around the terminal, soothing and unobtrusive. Slowly, David felt himself begin to smile.</p><p>Then Patrick began to sing, and David stopped smiling altogether.</p><p><em><a href="https://open.spotify.com/track/6ZSTinOwx5dKFYc6iYyGDn?si=RimMenaOS0Cuj0B_z8xJTA">All my bags are packed, I’m ready to go</a><br/>
</em> <em>I’m standin’ here outside your door<br/>
</em> <em>I hate to wake you up to say goodbye</em></p><p><em>But the dawn is breakin’, it’s early morn<br/>
</em> <em>Taxi’s waiting, he’s blowin’ his horn<br/>
</em> <em>Already I’m so lonesome I could cry</em></p><p>Chills swept down David’s back. Patrick had an amazing voice.</p><p>It should have been mortifying, being so near this impromptu live music performance—a very cringey choice even when not done in front of a medium- to large-sized and very disagreeable audience being held captive by circumstances outside their control. From where he was lying, David glanced nervously around the gate. His heartbeat was in his throat as he tried to gauge how the other passengers were reacting, looking for the person who was going to march over and rip the offending instrument out of Patrick’s hands and smash it over his head first. Playing a song was one thing, but singing along to it was an entirely different matter.</p><p>To David’s surprise, however, all the familiar faces around the terminal remained impassive. Everyone was either sitting quietly, reading their books or scrolling through their tablets, or spread out under their Delta blankets, eyes closed, fast asleep.</p><p>Others were even looking on appreciatively. The harried businesswoman across the walkway had finally set down her phone for the first time in days. She looked almost...serene, watching Patrick play. The two children who had been screaming around the concourse all afternoon were asleep in the laps of their parents. Mom and dad had their heads turned toward the music, hands gently stroking through the kids’ hair, small smiles playing at their lips. The older couple sitting closest to David were holding hands, eyes shining as they watched Patrick. After a moment, the man seemed to catch David looking at them and offered him an indulgent wink. David quickly glanced away.</p><p>Patrick didn’t seem to notice or care about any of this, focusing intently on the song he was playing. After a short, improvised guitar interlude before the chorus, he began to sing again.</p><p><em>So kiss me and smile for me<br/>
</em> <em>Tell me that you’ll wait for me<br/>
</em> <em>Hold me like you’ll never let me go</em></p><p><em>I'm leavin’ on a jet plane<br/>
</em> <em>I don’t know when I’ll be back again<br/>
</em> <em>Oh babe, I hate to go</em></p><p>With every word, every note Patrick sang, David could feel his shoulders sinking further into the floor beneath him, all of the tension from the last two days slowly beginning to melt away. He let his eyes fall shut.</p><p><em>There’s so many times I’ve let you down<br/>
</em> <em>So many times I’ve played around<br/>
</em> <em>I tell you now, they don’t mean a thing</em></p><p><em>Every place I go, I think of you<br/>
</em> <em>Every song I sing, I sing for you<br/>
</em> <em>When I come back, I’ll wear your wedding ring</em></p><p>Patrick’s version was slower than the Peter, Paul and Mary song David was familiar with, a little more melancholy—though maybe David was just projecting. It didn’t matter though, not to David or anyone else it seemed. As Patrick reached the second chorus, David heard their fellow passengers slowly beginning to join in. Their voices raised alongside Patrick’s in harmony to sing:</p><p><em>So kiss me and smile for me<br/>
</em> <em>Tell me that you’ll wait for me<br/>
</em> <em>Hold me like you’ll never let me go</em></p><p><em>I’m leavin’ on a jet plane</em><br/>
<em>I don’t know when I’ll be back again<br/>
</em> <em>Oh babe, I hate to go…</em></p><p>They were the last words David remembered hearing clearly. As chorus flowed into verse and verse back into chorus, David drifted back to sleep to the sound of Patrick’s voice.</p><p>It was even later when David opened his eyes again. The first thing he saw was the moon, shining in through the window. The storm clouds had passed, leaving behind a clear night sky, dotted with stars.</p><p>The second thing he saw was Patrick. It was the quiet clacking of the latches on Patrick’s guitar case that had woken him. His back was to David as he shuffled around, stowing his belongings safely away to turn in for the night. Defenses lowered by the weightless edge of sleep, David couldn’t help but appreciate the soft lines of Patrick’s body in the low light.</p><p>Fleetingly, the words half-formed as they crossed his mind, David thought: <em>I’m going to miss this.</em></p><p>When he finally finished with his bags, Patrick turned and laid down with his head next to David’s, their feet pointing in opposite directions, bodies like two parallel lines. David caught a whiff of minty toothpaste when Patrick breathed out a sleepy sigh.</p><p>Silently, David wondered how long Patrick had played his guitar, how many other sweet, folksy songs he had missed. He wished he’d stayed awake to hear them.</p><p>Clearing his throat gently, David shifted in place, letting Patrick know he was awake too.</p><p>“Leaving On a Jet Plane? A little on the nose if you ask me,” he murmured, gazing up at the ceiling.</p><p>Patrick answered without hesitation. “I don’t think I did though,” he said, voice pitched high and sarcastic.</p><p>David felt himself grin. When he turned his head to look at him, Patrick was already looking back. Their faces were close in the dim light, closer than expected, a single point where the lengths of their bodies overlapped.</p><p>It occurred to David that if they were to kiss right then, it would be the closest he’d probably ever come to feeling like Kirsten Dunst in the spider movie, kissing an alluring stranger in the rain. David quickly looked away from the deep, welcoming brown of Patrick’s eyes after that. He cleared his throat again.</p><p>Because kissing Patrick would be a wildly inappropriate and irrational thing to do, no matter how much David might’ve wanted to—had been wanting to since the moment Patrick told him the weather was supposed to be great this time of year.</p><p>Outside the window, the wind had tapered off, returning the world to stillness. The inky black of night was broken only by the wink of snow glistening in the moonlight. They would all be flying out in the morning, there was no doubt about that now. A small mercy.</p><p>No, it would not be good for David if he kissed sweet, funny, whip-smart, overly competitive, unassumingly sexy, impossibly lovely, guitar-playing Patrick who couldn’t spell, and who David had run out of adjectives for in the same moment he let himself get attached to a stranger in an airport he would be forced to say goodbye to in just a few hours’ time.</p><p>David closed his eyes against the feeling, against the loss already beginning to ache inside his chest. He whispered, “Goodnight, Patrick.”</p><p>“Goodnight, David,” Patrick whispered back, softer than David could ever have imagined. He felt the words brush against his cheek and knew Patrick was still gazing at him.</p><p>David kept his eyes shut and ignored the sense of finality that surrounded him as he drifted back to sleep.</p><p>✈️️</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>I'll be away for a week starting tomorrow (small miracle that this chapter even got finished in time, whew) and I have even less of the third chapter already written than I did this one, so it might take me a little longer to get the final chapter out to you. I promise it's coming though! &lt;3</p><p>Thank you for all of your kind words and encouragement so far. I love you very much.</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0003"><h2>3. DAY THREE</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>“Attention on the concourse. At this time, all previously delayed and cancelled flights have been scheduled for departure beginning at 5:15 AM. First in line for takeoff is flight B256, with nonstop service to Halifax. Those passengers traveling to Halifax can expect boarding to begin in approximately ten minutes. Please proceed to gate two immediately and have your boarding pass and identification ready. For all other travelers, please locate the nearest flight information monitor to confirm your updated gate and departure times, as the details on your boarding pass may be incorrect. Any questions regarding connecting flights or travel refunds should be directed to the airline agent at your respective departure gate. Finally, from all of us here at Toronto Pearson International Airport, thank you for your patience, and we hope to see you again soon. Travel safe.”</p><p>The overhead announcement sputtered to an end with a whine of feedback. David clenched his eyes shut against the sound, pulling the Delta blanket more snugly around his shoulders. Twenty minutes ago he wouldn’t have even believed 4 AM was a real time of the day; now David was just thankful he’d already been awake. There was certainly no going back to sleep now.</p><p>All around him, that unwelcome, permanently anxious energy of the airport was closing in, the kind that made David feel like he was both running late and in the wrong place simultaneously. The concourse was already bustling with foot traffic, flight attendants and pilots strolling along with their tidy suitcases rolling behind them, passengers scurrying in every direction to get to their newly assigned gates on time. Even the salespeople were up bright and early, restocking shelves and taking grumbled coffee orders, maintenance workers in their blue uniforms appearing out of nowhere to sweep away the mess everyone else had left behind.</p><p>Sitting beside him, a warm weight against David’s shoulder, Patrick seemed to be the only other person appropriately unwilling to face the day at such a repulsive hour of the morning.</p><p>“Ugh,” he groaned after a jaw-cracking yawn, succinct as ever.</p><p>David just nodded in agreement. “Yeah,” he said, soft and morning hoarse.</p><p>It was still dark out, the absence of daybreak only adding to the sense of wrongness settling heavily at the bottom of David’s stomach. For a moment, however, he put the feeling aside and just leaned back into Patrick, allowing himself the simple comfort of their shared connection.</p><p>Shoulder to shoulder, before the sun had even risen, David and Patrick waited together for the last time.</p><p>It took another ten minutes before David was able to gather enough mental fortitude to go and get ready for the day. The bathroom was practically at capacity when he walked inside. Apparently half the terminal was equally as intent on brushing their teeth before takeoff as David, and waiting for an available sink took far longer than David had anticipated, though he was actively <em>not</em> thinking of any time wasted as time he’d never get to spend with Patrick. There was no sense in that now.</p><p>It was for everyone else’s benefit, not his own, that David only worried about his hair long enough to ensure it was all facing the same direction.</p><p>By the time he made it back to the gate, Patrick was already packed and ready to go, all of his bags and belongings gathered neatly at his feet. He stood with an arm leaning against the extended handle of his suitcase, studying his phone in one hand, his boarding pass in the other. David paused just far enough out of sight to blink his eyes once, taking a mental picture of their place by the windows, unexpectedly treasured, before closing the distance between them.</p><p>Patrick looked up as he approached, offering David a smile, as kind and dimpled as always.</p><p>“Thanks for these,” David murmured, offering the borrowed bathroom supplies back to Patrick. He kept his used toothbrush.</p><p>Patrick pocketed his phone. “No problem,” he smiled, taking the bottles from David’s hands.</p><p>For a long moment, neither of them said anything else, and their eyes didn’t leave each other’s. Unlike their first conversation, this last one settled between them comfortably, something easy and familiar. David looked at Patrick, with his warm brown eyes and his soft, sarcastic mouth, and he wasn’t a stranger anymore. In another life, if they’d met under any other circumstances, they probably would’ve been great friends. Maybe even something more, if David let himself take the chance.</p><p>David had never thought like that before.</p><p>He had no fucking idea how to say goodbye to Patrick.</p><p>“Well,” David tried, gesturing meaninglessly. “Guess this is it.”</p><p>Patrick hummed, not breaking his gaze. “I guess so,” he replied softly. The tilt of his mouth turned wry then, his smile going crooked. He looked at David, thoughtful. “Kinda feels like we should hug or something, doesn’t it?” he said.</p><p>A day ago, David would’ve been taken aback by how forthright Patrick was. Now, with a put-upon sigh, he just rolled his eyes and parroted back, “I guess so,” hiding his smile behind the twist of his lips.</p><p>At the same time, they both took a step forward and were in each other’s arms. Silently, David prayed that Patrick couldn’t feel the eager beat of his heart inside his chest. He held him close anyway.</p><p>Patrick was the perfect height in David’s arms, their bodies slotting effortlessly together like this wasn’t the first time they’d ever touched. Hooking his chin over Patrick’s shoulder, David felt the warmth of Patrick’s neck, the soft brush of his unshaven face against his cheek. He half expected Patrick to clap him on the back in that universal display of detached masculine affection; instead, Patrick just spread his palms wider across David’s back, his thumb stroking firmly against the fabric of David’s sweater. Patrick held him just as close in return, and David let himself sink further into the warmth of their embrace, his eyes slipping shut.</p><p>“I’m really glad I met you, David,” Patrick murmured, his breath sending a slight shiver down David’s spine.</p><p>“You too,” he whispered in return. And though David couldn’t fully articulate what exactly he was thankful for, he added, “Thanks for everything.” It felt important to say.</p><p>For the span of several breaths, they stood chest to chest, hugging each other wordlessly. David gently smoothed his hands up and down Patrick’s shoulders, feeling the solid, steady closeness of him, savoring the sensation.</p><p>It would have to be enough.</p><p>Reluctantly, David let his arms drop from Patrick’s shoulders. They each took a step away from each other and parted.</p><p>David coughed once, trying to clear away the unexpected rise of emotion in his throat. It took him another moment to gather his courage. Then, meeting Patrick’s eyes, he said, heartfelt and true, “I hope you find everything you’re looking for, Patrick.”</p><p>David watched the smile as it grew across Patrick’s face, small but full of meaning. “Thank you, David,” he replied, voice soft. “I hope you do too.”</p><p>David couldn’t recall ever saying he was searching for anything at all—leave it to Patrick to see right through him regardless. For a moment David had to avert his eyes to the ceiling, hiding a single, quiet sniffle. Finally, afraid he might just give in and kiss him, David forced himself to reach down and pick up his tote and jacket.</p><p>He folded them carefully over his arm, lingering just a little while longer before turning back to Patrick. “I’ll see you around?” he asked.</p><p>The hopeful note in David’s voice, pitifully misplaced, was far too revealing.</p><p>Patrick just nodded his head. “Of course,” he answered, feigning certainty with much more conviction than David had.</p><p>David nodded too. “Okay,” he whispered back.</p><p>Then, with a final quirk of a smile—the last joke, the first lie shared between the two of them—David turned and walked away.</p><p>✈️</p><p>David shouldn’t have walked away.</p><p>Aboard the plane, his appetite for both audiobooks and Biscoff cookies having abandoned him in his time of need, David made several key realizations.</p><p>First, he did not know Patrick’s last name. David really ought to have snuck a peek at Patrick’s boarding pass when he had the chance, because without a very invasive public records search or a very lucky guess at a baseball-themed username, there would be no browsing of Patrick’s social media profiles in David’s future.</p><p>Second, David did not have Patrick’s phone number. It seemed like such an obvious thing to have asked for now, but trapped together in the confined space of the airport terminal, there’d been no need for them to communicate over long distances. And while David wasn’t ready to put himself through another text-based relationship following his two-month fling with Paola exclusively via fax, at least he and Patrick could’ve stayed in touch.</p><p>Finally, David would never again purchase a last-minute ticket for a seat located next to the airplane lavatory, no matter how deeply discounted the price might be.</p><p>Setting aside his cookies, David folded his arms across his tray table, laid down his head, and tried not to breathe through his nose as he willed himself to sleep away the rest of this miserable fucking flight.</p><p>✈️</p><p>The sun had fully, blessedly risen as David stepped off the airbridge and into the dinky Elmdale terminal. It was the first real glimpse of sunlight David had seen in days, and it shone even brighter where it reflected off the tall mounds of snow, reminiscent of the all-too familiar drifts back in Toronto.</p><p>David certainly didn’t miss the Toronto airport, with all of its noise and crowds and overpriced food establishments, but the Elms-Area Regional Airport did leave much to be desired. The building looked rickety, and the inside was even more dilapidated, small and seedy and decorated twenty years out of date in a way that reminded him of the motel, which was not a positive. It smelled like sweat and old leather and mothballs, and David couldn’t wait to put this place and this entire fucking trip behind him.</p><p>By nature of being seated in the very last row on the airplane, David was also one of the last people to make it to baggage claim. However, in a shocking display of effective airport operation, the Elmdale luggage crew had somehow completely unloaded the plane by the time David arrived at the baggage carousel. The place was practically devoid of other passengers already, only two bags left circling the conveyor belt. They looked garishly oversaturated and beat-up as they followed David’s sleek Hermes case around the track.</p><p>His suitcase was an enormous thing that weighed about half as much as David did, and hefting it off the carousel took a less than ideal amount of effort, leaving David out of breath. Yanking the handle out with an impatient huff, David secured his tote firmly around his shoulder and stalked over to the exit. The wheels of his suitcase clicked over every crack in the linoleum floor, the sound grating as it echoed around the empty space. David pulled out his phone.</p><p>He was searching for the reminder he’d left about where the car was parked, which was why David didn’t notice him until he was halfway out the door. All he caught was a glimpse of a soft navy sweater out of the corner of his eye, but it was enough to stop David in his tracks. He walked back slowly.</p><p>Sitting on top of his luggage, leaning back against the extended arms of his suitcase, staring morosely out the window was -</p><p>“<em>Patrick?</em>” David said in disbelief.</p><p>Patrick turned in place, the wheels of his suitcase rolling under him. David watched his entire expression transform, his eyes going wide as he looked up and saw who had said his name.</p><p>“<em>David?</em>” Patrick gasped, sounding equally as baffled to see David here. He glanced over each shoulder, like he was checking to make sure he was still in the right place.</p><p>David couldn’t believe it. His ears were suddenly full of static, the world blurring. Before he’d even left the ground in Toronto, David had resigned himself to two full days of reading Craigslist Missed Connections ads and moping around the apartment about his stupid, tragic airport crush. And now...</p><p>Patrick stood up from his suitcase. “What are you doing here?” he asked. He looked equally as dumbfounded as David felt. “I thought you were flying to Schitt’s Creek?”</p><p>David shook his head, dazed. “It’s like a 40 minute drive from here,” he explained hoarsely. As if Schitt’s Creek would ever have the proper infrastructure for a fucking airport—not that Patrick would know that. Perhaps David should have been a little clearer about his destination.</p><p>No, that didn’t make any sense.</p><p>His eyes snapped back to Patrick. “What are <em>you</em> doing here?” David asked him in return, voice pitching up, slightly hysterical. “I thought you said you were going to L.A.?”</p><p>Patrick frowned, looking even more confused. “What? No. You said that, not me,” he claimed. “And I thought you were joking. No, Elmdale was the first flight I could find out of Toronto. I didn’t even know where this place was…”</p><p>All they could do for a long moment after that was stare at each other.</p><p>David shook his head again, trying to clear the foggy haze of his disbelief. Despite Patrick standing right in front of him, he still couldn’t quite believe things had worked out <em>this</em> well in his favor. He hadn't gotten this lucky in two years.</p><p>“How did I not see you getting on the plane?” he wondered aloud. “There were like, 30 people on that thing, and I was all the way in the back.”</p><p>Patrick was shaking his head too, wonderstruck. “I was in the front row,” he explained. “And since you decided to monopolize my toothpaste this morning, I was still brushing my teeth while everyone else was boarding.”</p><p>David felt his face contort at the accusation. “<em>Okay</em>,” he said archly. “I don’t think there’s any need for finger pointing.”</p><p>And then, for the second time that day, David had the privilege of watching Patrick’s smile as it bloomed across his face. For a moment they just stood there grinning at each other, the familiar rhythm of their banter left humming between them like a struck chord.</p><p>Patrick laughed quietly to himself, averting his eyes down to his feet. David was warmed by the memory of Patrick doing the very same thing when they first met.</p><p>Patrick looked back up at him through his lashes. “It’s really good to see you, David,” he admitted quietly, eyes soft, that disarmingly open expression across his face.</p><p>David could feel the surety as it rose in his chest—recognized it instantly.</p><p>This time, he wasn’t going to let the chance pass him by. Heart in his throat, David reached out and took it.</p><p>“So, do you have somewhere to stay in Elmdale…?” he asked carefully, moving his hands in flat circles between them. “Or what was your plan here, exactly?”</p><p>Patrick scratched sheepishly at the back of his head. He looked more abashed than David had ever seen him. “Well, uh. I didn’t have one, really. I was just looking for an AirBNB or something when you -” he cleared his throat. “When you came over.”</p><p>David gazed at him. “Mmhmm,” he nodded. “And while I’m sure the greater Elmdale area has only the finest selection of AirBNBs to offer, I do have a spare couch available for free. If, you know. You were interested. In that,” David offered, only a little self-consciously. “Like I said, Schitt’s Creek is less than an hour from here.”</p><p>It wasn’t the most subtle David had ever been, but he wasn’t above that right now. He’d only gotten a few hours of sleep, after all.</p><p>It was when Patrick didn’t answer, just continued watching David with an unreadable expression across his face that David began to panic. “Unless you were planning on staying in Elmdale permanently…?” he said, trying not to sound too disappointed by the idea.</p><p>“No!” Patrick blurted, followed by a wince. His eyes fell shut, like he’d given too much away and was embarrassed about it.</p><p>David was suddenly very aware of his heart, beating rapidly inside his chest.</p><p>“No, uh,” Patrick laughed quietly to himself again before meeting David’s eyes once more. “No, I really had, uh. No idea what I was going to do once I got this far. So, you know. It would be great. To end up somewhere I actually knew another person.” He gestured lamely at David, like that wasn’t obvious. “So yeah, Schitt’s Creek sounds nice, actually. If you’re willing to take me.”</p><p>David fought back a grin. He shifted his tote over his shoulder and reached for one of Patrick’s suitcases. They seemed to have multiplied between Toronto and Elmade. “Well it’s not nice, actually,” David said, “But I will appreciate the company nonetheless.”</p><p>Slowly, Patrick began to smile.</p><p>Together, they gathered up all of the remaining luggage and made their way to David’s car (row C3, the note on his phone said), trudging clumsily through the unplowed parking lot, snow crunching underfoot.</p><p>It was just as David was unlocking the trunk that he remembered to ask. “Oh, by the way,” he said, glancing over his shoulder at Patrick. “What’s your last name?”</p><p>Patrick’s eyes narrowed, like he couldn’t decide what David’s angle was.</p><p>He answered anyway.</p><p>“Brewer…?” he said, sounding skeptical. “Is that a requirement for staying at your place or something?” He stepped up beside David and hefted the largest of his suitcases into the trunk. He turned to face David again, eyebrows raised. “What’s <em>your</em> last name?” he challenged in return.</p><p>“No, I was just curious,” David told him. He didn’t fight back his smile. “And it’s Rose. David Rose.”</p><p>✈️</p><p>There was significantly less snow between Elmdale and Schitt’s Creek compared to what had fallen in Toronto, but it was still early enough in the day that the highways hadn’t been fully plowed or salted. Although the drive was taking much longer than he’d promised Patrick, David was pretty sure Patrick appreciated not spinning out into a ditch more than efficient cross-country travel anyway.</p><p>Patrick kindly kept the conversation light and minimal as David white-knuckled the steering wheel, focused on keeping the car between the lines as they drove over patches of black ice and blowing snow. It was only after they’d reached the town limits and the roads began to clear that Patrick voiced concern about their arrangement.</p><p>“You know, it’s okay if you don’t want me in your apartment. I can stay at a hotel for a while, it’s really not a big deal -” They were just passing by the motel, which resulted in Patrick interjecting, “Look, there’s a motel right there, I’m sure it would be perfectly acceptable -”</p><p>David didn’t know if Patrick was that reluctant to sleep on a couch or had finally come to regret his decision to spend more time around him. Either way, David was most certainly <em>not</em> letting Patrick stay anywhere within breathing distance of his parents. Or Stevie, for that matter.</p><p>He interrupted Patrick’s litany of polite excuses. “I can assure you that it’s perfectly <em>un</em>acceptable,” David argued. “And I would know, I lived in that motel for almost two years,” he told him.</p><p>Patrick was silent for such a long moment after that, David had to take his eyes from the road to glance over at him. He raised his eyebrows questioningly.</p><p>“There’s so much I’d like to learn about you, David,” was all Patrick said.</p><p>The words sounded more leading than they were likely intended, but David felt his stomach flip upside down anyway.</p><p>It was the way he said it—delivered with the same artless, confident sincerity Patrick had spoken with since the moment they met. After only a few days spent trapped together in an unavoidable situation, David could hardly say he knew Patrick well, but he was learning quickly. Patrick meant the things he said.</p><p>Whatever was bothering Patrick had apparently been snuffed out by David’s insistence that he stay with him, and they arrived at the front of his and Alexis’s building soon after.</p><p>Walking inside the apartment, they were immediately greeted by the sharp, lingering scent of Alexis’s sandalwood incense. For the very first time, however, that was a comfort to David rather than an irritant. He dropped his bags at his feet, leaving Patrick to stumble over them on his way through the door.</p><p>“Oh my god,” David groaned, tipping his head back, arms spread wide in relief. “It’s so good to be home.”</p><p>Because Patrick had already seen David at his near-worst during their stay at the airport, David did his best to ignore the prickling, anxious embarrassment urging him to start making excuses about the state of the apartment. He didn’t apologize for the unwashed dishes in the sink, the blankets left unfolded in rumpled heaps across the couch, the water glasses going stale wherever they’d last been used. Together, the little messes and clutter just made the apartment seem lived-in and welcoming.</p><p>His eyes wandering the space, taking in everything around him, David hoped Patrick felt welcome here too.</p><p>A moment later, as if he could sense David watching him, Patrick turned and met his gaze. He smiled. “This is really nice,” he said.</p><p>David breathed out a silent sigh of relief. He hadn’t been looking for Patrick’s approval, but it still felt good to receive it.</p><p>He gave Patrick a small tour of the apartment, showing him where he could put all of his bags, pointing out Alexis’s bedroom, the bathroom, the narrow hall closet where they kept the spare towels. Since the living room and couch weren’t exactly private, after explaining all the steps necessary to get the hot water to run, David stepped away so Patrick could have some space to settle in. He tried to be as unobtrusive as possible he removed his belongings from the entrance, lugging them into his bedroom.</p><p>What used to function as a dining room had been converted into a second bedroom for David when he and Alexis first moved in. It wasn’t an ideal space for a bedroom, attached to the kitchen and living room as it was, and the cramped space couldn’t even begin to house all of David’s clothes. But David made it work. If Schitt’s Creek had taught him any skill, it was learning how to adapt to impractical living spaces.</p><p>Passing through the French doors connecting his room to the rest of the apartment, David dropped his bags, toed off his shoes, and promptly collapsed face-first onto his bed. He hadn’t realized it before, but he’d never fully cherished and appreciated his bed until this very moment. David sighed blissfully as he sank deeper into the plushness of his comforter.</p><p>With Alexis gone—probably spending the weekend at Ted’s—everything was quiet, only the sound of Patrick shuffling around in the living room interrupting the sleepy silence blanketing the apartment. From where he laid, unmoving, David could hear the chirp of Patrick’s phone when he plugged it in, the unzipping of bags, Patrick’s soft footsteps muffled against the hardwood by his socks. It was cozy and comfortable, having Patrick here, and it was a feeling David knew he could get used to with frightening ease.</p><p>A few minutes or maybe an hour later, David was pulled from his drowse by a gentle knock on his door. With a guest in the house and a lot of unpacking left to do, he hadn’t meant to doze off. But then again, David had only promised Patrick a place to sleep, not that he’d be a good host or provide him any entertainment.</p><p>At least there was functioning Wi-Fi in the apartment.</p><p>Lifting his head groggily, David peered up through squinted eyes to find Patrick standing between the French doors, watching him, amused. He had his arms crossed and was holding a familiar bag of toiletries.</p><p>“I think I’m going to go shower, if that’s okay,” Patrick told him, thumbing over his shoulder to the bathroom. “I smell like an airport carpet.”</p><p>David let his head drop back against the bed, nestling the side of his face against the comforter. “Good call,” he murmured drowsily. The memory of that heinous generic cleanser still burned in his mind, he sent Patrick off with a pointed, “Feel free to use some of the <em>nice</em> products in the shower.”</p><p>Immediately David wondered why he’d even said it; he regretted it instantly. Those products were astronomically expensive—even David only used them when he needed a special pick-me-up. He certainly wouldn’t be able to afford them again any time soon, so he was really in no position to be offering handouts. Maybe Patrick would accidentally use Alexis’s stuff instead.</p><p>It didn’t matter in the end. “Ohhh, I wouldn’t do that to you,” Patrick teased, voice still close. “Besides, I don’t want to upset the delicate pH balance of my skin, do I?”</p><p>He said it with the confidence of a man who hadn’t just recently learned about pH balancing in a 45-minute lecture from David in the Toronto airport. With a scowl, David raised his head to say something witty and derisive in return, but Patrick had already walked away.</p><p>Down the hall, David heard the shower as it sputtered to life. He was asleep long before it stopped running again.</p><p>David didn’t know how long he slept. It was still daylight when he next blinked open his eyes, winter sunshine filtering in lazily through the curtains above his head. With so many hours of lost rest to catch up on, his nap hadn’t been particularly satisfying, but it was David’s body that had woken him, demanding something to eat, insistent that he wash away the reek of recycled airplane air still clinging to his skin. David stumbled out of his bedroom in a daze.</p><p>In the kitchen, he foraged through the bottom shelves of the pantry and managed to find an old, forgotten granola bar that still seemed safe enough to eat. David finished it off in three hurried bites and flicked the wrapper into the trash.</p><p>It was as he walked into the living room that David found himself stopping short, the last swallow of granola bar passing roughly down his throat. From the entryway, David could see Patrick where he was now lying, curled up on the couch, head propped up against David’s throw pillows. He had one fist under his cheek, his phone held loosely in his other hand, like he’d fallen asleep in the middle of a text. His lips were parted as he snored softly on. He looked comfortable, peaceful and content.</p><p>Like he belonged.</p><p>David felt his smile, small and impossibly fond, and had to press his fingertips to his mouth.</p><p>When it came, David was powerless to stop the rush of affection, warm and adoring as it expanded inside his chest. He took a step forward, moving further into the room, closer to Patrick. Heart thrumming steadily against his breastbone, David reached out and picked up the oversized throw from the back of the couch. He carefully shook it out over Patrick, gently spreading the blanket across his body, fussing with the edges until Patrick’s arms and feet were adequately covered. For a long, quiet moment then, David just lingered beside him, palm resting on the blanket where it fell across Patrick’s shoulder, feeling each slow, deep breath he took.</p><p>It was dangerous to see just how right it felt, having Patrick here, filling in all the spaces David hadn’t even realized were empty. Yet somehow, in spite of every terrible memory, every broken piece of his heart warning him otherwise, David couldn’t bring himself to regret it.</p><p>✈️</p><p>From the other side of the apartment, David heard the front door slam shut.</p><p>He’d been awake for some time now, drifting in a state of near consciousness following his second, post-shower nap. He was pretty sure Patrick was awake too, had heard him wandering in and out of the kitchen an indeterminable amount of time ago. David could only assume he’d finally gotten bored enough to go out and explore the town. Not that there was a whole lot for Patrick to see.</p><p>Then Alexis’s shrill voice rang out through the apartment.</p><p>“David, ew!” came her familiar shriek. David’s heart fell; he hadn’t even considered how Alexis would factor into this scenario. “Did you bring home a random? From the <em>airport</em>?” she exclaimed, disgusted disbelief coloring her voice. “And you let him sleep on the <em>couch</em>?!”</p><p>All thoughts of Patrick having miraculously escaped this particular encounter vanished. With a long-suffering sigh, David ripped the sleep mask from his face. Through the kitchen-side doors, he could see Alexis standing with her wrists held limp at her chest, fingers clasped together as she stared out into the living room. The living room, where Patrick was no doubt still resting on the couch.</p><p>David called out to her from his bed, “Well I did offer him your room first, but he very politely declined!”</p><p>He watched Alexis stamp one heeled foot. She whirled to glare at him. “Gross, David!” she whined. She combed her fingers through a perfectly curled section of her hair. “Why would you even -”</p><p>“It’s not like you’re ever here anyway!” he yelled back at her.</p><p>From his place on the couch, caught in the middle of their bickering, David heard Patrick interrupt with a polite, yet sarcastic, “Hi, I’m Patrick.”</p><p>David groaned. He could practically hear his pleasant smile.</p><p>Being charming wasn’t going to do Patrick any favors here though. Knowing this introduction would require his intervention sooner rather than later, David slapped his sleep mask back onto his bedside table and worked to disentangle himself from his sheets.</p><p>He made it to the living room just in time to see Alexis saunter up to the couch and deposit her hand limply in Patrick’s, taking his greeting as the invitation he clearly hadn’t intended it to be.</p><p>“Hello, <em>Patrick</em>,” she leered, eyes raking over him with a concerning mix of curiosity and knowing interest.</p><p>David jumped in before Alexis could go any farther</p><p>“Patrick and I got stuck in the airport together back in Toronto,” he quickly explained, attempting to get ahead of whatever leaps of logic Alexis was bounding through. “He needed a place to stay for a few days.”</p><p>David hoped leaving out some of the key details would bring this conversation to an end sooner. It didn’t work.</p><p>Alexis glanced between the two of them with her brows raised. She shimmied her shoulders. “Mmm, <em>cute</em>,” she intoned, just lecherous enough to make Patrick blush.</p><p>David’s heart rate doubled in speed. This was not what he needed right now.</p><p>“Okay, <em>why</em> are you even here?” David said, cutting Alexis off before she could do any more damage.</p><p>That finally pulled Alexis’s attention away from Patrick. She squinted at David, face pinched. “Um, David,” she said, staring at him like he was the stupidest person she’d ever met. “I live here?”</p><p>“No, why are you here <em>right now</em>?” David asked again, quickly growing impatient. His fingers danced up and down on the words “right” and “now.” “I thought you were at Ted’s this weekend? Why aren’t you at Ted’s?”</p><p>“Well not that it’s any of your <em>business</em>, David,” Alexis replied, matching his tone, “But I just came by to pick up some different shoes. Ted’s been planning us a cute little nature hike.” She shimmied her shoulders again, head bobbing along with the motion, wide grin plastered across her face.</p><p>She was obviously angling for him to ask her more questions, but David was not about to indulge her. “Fascinating,” he whispered. He raised his eyebrows, an obvious indication he wasn’t going to give in.</p><p>Alexis visibly deflated. Her expression fell, shoulders drooping. “Ugh, fine,” she whined.</p><p>Flicking her hair back with both hands, she turned around and stomped off to her bedroom. Only then did David spare a glance at Patrick, the first since Alexis had appeared. He very clearly looked like he was holding back laughter. David gave him a strained, apologetic smile and said nothing at all.</p><p>Patrick did start to laugh then. At the same time, Alexis flounced back into the living room carrying a pair of heeled Valentino booties from three seasons ago—apparently her definition of hiking shoes. She ignored David in favor of returning her sharp gaze to Patrick, who sobered quickly.</p><p>“<em>So</em> good to meet you, Patrick,” she gushed, reaching out to pat at his shoulder with the very tips of her fingers. “I know David is like, totally boring and Snoozetown, so just have him give you my number if you’re looking for something actually fun to do while you’re here.”</p><p><em>I don’t even have his number</em>, David couldn’t help but think.</p><p>Then, despite all her provocations, Alexis turned back to David and widened her eyes at him meaningfully. She curled her forefinger and thumb together in the universal symbol of approval, doing a very poor job of hiding the gesture where Patrick couldn’t see.</p><p>Despite himself, David felt his lips begin to twist into a fond smile. He rolled his eyes at her. Alexis just beamed back at him, eyes shining and happy.</p><p>She trotted off to the door, her skirt dancing around her legs. Calling out one last prurient, “You boys have fun without me, byeeeee!” over her shoulder, she slammed the door shut behind her and was gone just as suddenly as she’d arrived.</p><p>A long stretch of silence followed. David could hardly bring himself to look at Patrick.</p><p>“Let me guess,” Patrick began, when it was clear David wasn’t going to say anything. “Your sister?”</p><p>“Ugh,” David groaned. He dropped onto the couch next to him, defeated. “Yes.”</p><p>Patrick just laughed again, shifting back against the armrest to give David more space. “She seems…nice?” he tried.</p><p>David wrinkled his nose. “You’re really going to have to learn some new adjectives if you’re planning on sticking around here,” he told Patrick. David shook his head. “Nice…” he muttered to himself, though not without affection for Alexis and all of her well-intentioned meddling.</p><p>Neither of them spoke again for a long while. By now, however, David no longer felt the need to intrude upon the comfortable silence between them with words. It was an unfamiliar position for him, but not an unwelcome one. It felt like something David hadn’t even known he was searching for, yet was incredibly grateful to have finally found, right where he never would have looked.</p><p>Slumping further down into the plush couch, David also felt very grateful in that moment to not be sitting on the airport floor, and profoundly lucky to somehow still have Patrick beside him anyway.</p><p>Raising a hand to his mouth, David covered a long, drawn-out yawn. After, he turned to Patrick. “What time is it, even?” he asked.</p><p>Patrick reached under the throw pillows against his back, searching between them until he was able to recover his phone from the creases of the couch. “Just after three o’clock,” he read from the screen.</p><p>David gaped at him. “Really? Wow. No wonder I’m so hungry,” he complained.</p><p>“Yeah, well,” Patrick replied, “I was going to make us a late breakfast earlier as a thank you, but you don’t have any eggs. Or bread. Or milk.” He returned David’s gaze. “Should I be concerned?”</p><p>Instead of responding, David just blinked at him, completely taken aback. That Patrick would even think to do something like that in the first place… Every day Patrick seemed to find new and incredible ways to put David off balance, diverging time and time again from everything David had learned to expect from another person.</p><p>David couldn’t help but wonder when Patrick would finally stop surprising him, and quickly decided he never wanted that moment to arrive.</p><p>“You didn’t need to make breakfast…” David said, his only thought that felt safe enough to share.</p><p>“Well I didn’t make breakfast, because you quite literally have nothing to cook with,” Patrick told him. “I ate dry cereal when I got hungry. I gotta say, your accommodations could use some work, David.”</p><p>David ignored his needling. “The general store closed a couple weeks ago, that’s why we have no groceries,” he explained. “It’s a trip to Elmdale and back until something new leases the space.”</p><p>An idea occurred to David then, and instead of spending any time considering whether it was a good and non-offensive one, he immediately voiced the thought. “Maybe that’s what you could do if you decide to stay in Schitt’s Creek.”</p><p>Patrick looked at him with a crease between his brows, the one David was beginning to realize only appeared when he couldn’t quite believe the words coming out of David’s mouth.</p><p>“…Run a grocery store?” Patrick wondered aloud, sounding doubtful.</p><p>David rolled his eyes at him. “A <em>business</em>. That’s what you’re supposed to do, right? With a business degree? We’ve even got the space for you.” David tried not to sound too enthusiastic about the idea and failed spectacularly.</p><p>Patrick just chuckled in response. “Well, I’m really more of a numbers guy than an ideas guy, though I appreciate your vote of confidence.”</p><p>He clearly wasn’t convinced, but David’s mind had already started to wander. He was thinking about the little journal he kept at his bedside table and all the thoughts he’d saved inside it, the ideas he’d started sketching out when he first heard the old general store was closing.</p><p>Maybe there was something there after all…</p><p>His mindless daydreaming was soon interrupted by Patrick, however. Seemingly out of nowhere, picking up the thread of a conversation David had obviously missed, Patrick asked, “Would that be okay?” </p><p>Nonplussed, David could only shake his head. “Would what be okay?”</p><p>Patrick just stared down at his lap, fidgeting with his hands like he was nervous to have asked the question at all. “If I stayed here,” he answered after a moment, unusually quiet, hesitant. “In Schitt’s Creek.”</p><p>David felt his eyebrows draw together, not quite understanding what Patrick was asking him, why he seemed so unsure of the answer. “You don’t need my permission to move here, you know,” David said slowly. “It’s not like I own the place.”</p><p>Patrick did look up then, frowning at him. “But…you do own the town,” he said. His confused expression mirrored David’s.</p><p>“Okay, I don’t think it works like that though,” David argued. He waved a hand in the air dismissively. “Where you live is up to you, Patrick, not me. It really doesn’t matter what I think,” he said. “Frankly, I’m still surprised you even agreed to come here with me. Most people are sick of me after 72 hours, and those aren’t usually consecutive, uninterrupted hours either.”</p><p>He meant it as a joke, though in all honesty, David was a little impressed by Patrick’s perseverance. It wasn’t like David had never realized he was something of a handful.</p><p>Patrick just blinked at him. “Of course I’m not sick of you, David,” he murmured, mouth turning down unhappily, like the thought upset him. “You - you have no idea how happy I was to see you again in Elmdale. I thought…”</p><p>He left the sentence hanging without a conclusion, and David’s heart began to beat faster in its absence. The moment dangling between them felt precarious now. Sharp; a knife’s edge.</p><p>David’s breath caught and held.</p><p>With a deprecating laugh, Patrick continued. “You know, I spent the whole plane ride kicking myself for not asking for your phone number or something. I’d just said goodbye to you and I already wanted to see you again. It was the worst feeling, knowing I might never get the chance.”</p><p>David laughed too then, an instinctive reaction to everything he was hearing, everything Patrick was saying to him. It sounded small and stunned, even to his own ears. Half of David couldn’t believe this was actually happening, that they were finally acknowledging the feeling they’d both been dancing around for days. More than half of him, even.</p><p>“Funny,” David said, though it really wasn't funny at all. “I found myself doing the same thing.”</p><p>“Yeah…” Patrick muttered absently. It was like he hadn’t fully registered what David just said; he continued as though David hadn’t spoken at all. “And now I’ve just been sitting here all afternoon, asking myself how much longer it’s going to take for me to finally gather the courage to kiss you.”</p><p>David’s jaw actually dropped. He felt his stomach swoop inside him, an endless swan dive down, the same feeling that accompanied an unexpected fall.</p><p>Patrick didn’t give him much time to react any further that. He kept talking, like now that he’d said the words, Patrick couldn’t stop the rest from tumbling out.</p><p>“I know it sounds crazy. We pretty much just met, and you know my history—with, with the engagement, and everything,” Patrick said. Then, heart-stoppingly hesitant, “I’ve never even…done that. With a guy, before.”</p><p>Another secret shared.</p><p>For the first time ever, the words didn’t seem to come easily to Patrick. It was like he was pushing through several barriers of doubt and indecision in order to say them at all. David tried not to outwardly react, doing his best to strike a balance between shocked and silently supportive.</p><p>Patrick didn’t look at him long enough for it to matter anyway. He continued, “Don’t get me wrong, it’s a question I’ve been asking myself for a while now. Why none of my relationships ever felt…right, before,” Patrick said. “And, well. I guess I got my answer—the moment I met you.” Taking in a final, deep breath, Patrick met David’s eyes. “Because I haven’t been able to think about anything or anyone else since.”</p><p>David heard himself make a sound he would never be able to identify or repeat. He was close to blinking back tears. What was a person even supposed to say to something like that?</p><p>David didn’t fucking know. And since he clearly hadn’t learned his lesson the first time, David decided to let instinct take over. He opened his mouth and what came out was a single, stuttered, “Thank you?”</p><p>It was immediately obvious that that was neither the correct nor desired response. David watched Patrick’s entire face fall, and felt the floor disappear out from under him at the sight. David clapped both hands over his face, agonized. He was fucking <em>unbelievable</em>.</p><p>But David didn’t have the time to self-flagellate over his own lack of tact this time around. David knew he had to do something, say something before Patrick could start apologizing. Or worse, run away.</p><p>Eyes clenched shut, he extended an arm in Patrick’s direction, flapping his hand at him blindly. “Nope! Nope, nope, nope, nope, sorry!” David said, the words muffled by the hand still covering his face. “I didn’t mean to say that, please forget I said that.”</p><p>David recovered perhaps faster than he ever had before. Taking in a deep, calming breath, he let his hands fall into his lap. Though the living room was still spinning slightly, David attempted to school his expression into something he hoped was believably neutral.</p><p>Sitting across from him, looking stiff and uncomfortable, Patrick gave David a reluctant, downturned smile, like he knew he was about to get rejected and couldn’t do anything to stop it.</p><p>It was heartbreaking to witness. David cleared his throat and began talking.</p><p>“Okay, so I just want to start by saying thank you -” Patrick winced imperceptibly, “- for all of the very kind, and very lovely things you just said to me. I don’t…I don’t even know how to react, really? No one has, uh. No one’s ever said something like that to me before,” David admitted, voice barely above a whisper. He found he wasn’t able to speak any louder than that. “So, I’m very sorry, again, for saying what I did.” David continued with the one explanation he knew in his heart to be true: “It’s just…I’ve never really met anyone like you before, Patrick.”</p><p>He could hear the warble of emotion in his voice, and David didn’t try to hide it.</p><p>He refused to let himself hesitate now. “You asked whether it would be okay if you stayed here in Schitt’s Creek,” David said, holding Patrick’s careful gaze. “So, in the interest of full disclosure, I think you should know that since the moment we met on Monday, I have also been asking myself whether I’ll ever get the chance to kiss you.”</p><p>His eyes hadn’t left Patrick’s face since he started talking, so David could tell when the realization began to dawn on Patrick, that this conversation wasn’t going the way he’d been expecting it to. His eyes widened, lips parting in surprise. </p><p>“It was Wednesday,” Patrick corrected him, voice so quiet and hopeful David barely even heard him.</p><p>He ignored him anyway. “And to answer your question,” David said, heart pounding in his chest as he reached his dramatic conclusion, “It would very much be okay if you stayed here in Schitt’s Creek. Because I really, <em>really</em> don’t want to have to say goodbye to you again.”</p><p>They’d shifted imperceptibly closer now, drawn together by every word they’d spoken, every quick retort they’d shared, every lingering glance from the last three days. David watched Patrick’s eyes drop down to his mouth, and David began to smile.</p><p>“Me neither,” was all Patrick said, voice low and certain as he finally, bravely, joyously, leaned in.</p><p>It wasn’t their lips that touched first, and somehow that made it even better. In the last moment before their mouths met, Patrick pulled back, bringing his forehead to rest against David’s. Their noses bumped together, heat rising in the barely-there space between them, lips hovering just a breath away from each other. For a moment, David nosed indulgently against Patrick’s cheek, savoring the heightened sensation, the anticipation building on top of days of longing.</p><p>Reaching forward, David carefully put his hand on the back of Patrick’s neck. He could feel Patrick’s pulse racing where his palm came to rest at the side of his throat. Gently, David swept his thumb across the warm flush high on Patrick’s cheek, tender and reassuring, a sweet contrast to the thrumming string of tension ready to snap between them.</p><p>Patrick was almost trembling under his hands. David could practically feel the hesitation and the want and the vulnerability, all warring inside him in this single, breathless gap of yearning anticipation. The moment was devastatingly honest, and David wanted nothing more than to give Patrick everything he wanted, wholly and selflessly.</p><p>David leaned in the rest of the way and pressed their lips together.</p><p>The kiss was chaste; simple and soft and unfaltering—everything a first kiss should be. Against his mouth, kissing him back, David felt Patrick sigh, content, the sound full of wonder and relief. From between their bodies, Patrick lifted his arms to hold David’s face in his hands, following his fingers down the rough curve of his cheek, exploring, tracing the shape of David's jaw with his palms.</p><p>Taking that as an encouragement, David slowly parted his lips, moving them across Patrick’s in a warm, wet slide, easy as anything. Patrick responded in kind, eager and responsive and without a hint of doubt. David opened his mouth to him, the feeling building between them, drawing them ever closer.</p><p>Patrick kissed just like he talked, attentive and teasing at the same time, with a sincerity David still didn’t know how to deal with. His arms had lowered to David’s shoulders now, his fingers spread wide across David’s back, holding him tight as their kisses deepened. David couldn’t remember the last time he’d felt so wanted. </p><p>It was the best kiss of his life.</p><p>When it reached its inevitable conclusion, both David and Patrick pulled back at the same time, parting just far enough to catch their breath. David let his forehead come to rest against Patrick’s, his hands loose around his forearms. For a long moment, neither of them could open their eyes, both struck by the exhilaration of the kiss, lingering in the perfect sensation of it. </p><p>It was only when Patrick started to laugh, breathless and elated, close enough for the warm air to fan across David's cheek, that David finally opened his eyes. Their eyes locked, immediate and sure, and then David began to laugh too, impossibly happy to have finally ended up here, right where he wanted to be.</p><p>David had been the one to close the gap for their first kiss, but Patrick was the first to reach out for the next one. Taking the back of David’s neck in his palm, much like David himself had done, he drew him forward into another searing kiss.</p><p>David grinned against Patrick’s mouth, unable and unwilling to hide everything he was feeling. He wound his arms around Patrick’s shoulders, held him close, and didn’t let go.</p><p>Between kisses, Patrick spoke. “Hey, David?” he said softly, their lips brushing together. “Thanks for driving me home from the airport.”</p><p>✈️</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>[July 8] Apologies for the double update. I wasn't entirely happy with the final scene and decided to do some additional substantive editing, though the changes probably haven't altered the reading experience all that much. Thanks for sticking with me, guys &lt;3</p>
        </blockquote><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Title (obviously) taken from "Leaving On a Jet Plane," by Peter, Paul and Mary, originally by John Denver.</p><p>Thanks for reading, it means a lot! &lt;3</p><p><a href="https://mooodlighting.tumblr.com/post/620316270280245251/hold-me-like-youll-never-let-me-go-wont-be">fic post</a> | <a href="https://mooodlighting.tumblr.com">my writing blog</a></p></blockquote></div></div>
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